


And all the Kings men

by beth9891



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hints of child abuse, Language, M/M, Open Ending, Sexual Content, Slash, Violence, kidnapping of sorts, nongraphic domestic abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-03-29 17:38:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 122,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3905032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beth9891/pseuds/beth9891
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Goblins choose to inform Harry of a buried, hidden or otherwise unknown facts. His life and choices change. Lily committed an act that many would consider barbaric out of love—Harry has lived with the consequences up until now. Now that he knows the truth how will his second chance play out? Arthur/Harry--slash, harry/merlin—brothers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And we all Fall down: Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone, so I have been sitting on this for a bit while trying to finish Year in Perdition. Now that, that story is complete I am turning my attention back to the colaberation I am doing with cherryteapot (Malifecent misunderstandings) and this merlin/harry potter crossover. I have finished the first four chapters and am currently working on the fifth. From I will be posting as I write for here on out (for the most recent notice on where I am at in updating stories look on my profile)
> 
> This will be SLASH!-which if you read or follow me should not be a suprise at this point. Either way I am warning you now, if you do not like slash-male/male relationships; either explict or non then DO NOT READ this. It always astounds me that no matter how often I state this I still get reviewers complaining to me that it is slash. So I will say this now-I do not care if you are oftended by homosexual relationships. I do not care if it goes against your morals, principles or whatever god you choose to follow. I am not forcing you to read this. I am not tricking you into doing so. So if you continue on from here...any offesense you precieve you have incurred from reading about men loving men is on you.
> 
> Ok, now that that is out of my system-to all those who do enjoy reading stories with slash I hope you enjoy this one. Let me know what you think! ;)

 

* * *

 

_Don’t grieve. Anything that you lose will come round in a different form-Rumi_

* * *

 

It was the silence that Harry would remember most from his final sojourn in this once beautiful and fascinating world. Not the screams and bellows caused by two sides of warring opponents—both desperate to come out as victor; not the electrical snapping of a great and ancient magical ward, slowly falling under the barrage of spells volleyed at it; not even his own panicked heart beat. Just silence.

It was the silence that came with finality; of knowing that this was it, that there would be no second chance to back out…to change his mind. And even though he was sure of his decision; a decision made nearly a year ago that had since guided his actions and choices —he couldn’t help but feel a small spasm of fear: a lingering sense of doubt pushing him to wonder if this really was his best option. Was death really the best possible outcome to the past turbulent six years of his life?

And he knew as he drew closer to it; to the place where he would finally embrace the haunting shadow that had ruled his life that it was. Really, it was the best for everyone and as much as he would miss those few people who had managed to see past the ‘Boy-Who-Lived’ skin that he had worn day in and day out since entering this world, it would be better this way. He smiled—a smile perhaps a tad bitter and self mocking—as he realized that his old title; ‘The boy who lived’ would most definitely not fit him for much longer…for living had never been part of his plan.

But he knew what he had to do; he even looked forward to it in a slightly warped way….

For in freeing them, he would be free himself.

And with that final thought he stepped confidently into the forest clearing.

“Hello Harry Potter, have you come to die?” would be the second last sentence that he would hear in this world.

“Avada Kedavra” was the last.


	2. Eeny, meeny, miney, mo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: violence, deciet, slash and much more! muhahahaha
> 
> Note: I wrote the first six chapters a while back and posted them without reading through them once again only to realize that there are still quite a few spelling grammer mistakes. As such I am working on both writing the seventh chapter and going back and correcting the first six. At this point the prologue and the following chapter have been corrected. I will write corrected at the start of every chapter here after that I have finished re-posting. ;)

 

* * *

 

_“If there is an afterlife, I want my soul intact. And then maybe I'll see you there."_

_I smiled, somehow calm now that I was facing something inevitable. I was getting the good-bye I'd always wanted. - Nikki” ―_ [ _Brodi Ashton_ ](http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4384465.Brodi_Ashton) _,_ [ _Everneath_ ](http://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/14297146)

* * *

 

All those months ago when Harry had made the decision of how and by whom his death would occur, he had been reasonably sure that once his heart stopped beating that it would not be the end.

However, ‘reasonably’ is not an overly reassuring adjective when in reference to one’s preplanned death. And no—he would like to make it abundantly clear that despite his many fool hardy, unthinking stunts and his many past brushes with death-- Harry was not actually suicidal.

That did not, however mean, that he was not keenly aware of the fact that he would not be living much past his seventeenth birthday. And all things considering, he had actually lasted longer than he had initially planned, which was surprisingly neither a good or bad thing: It just was.

This extension of his life, had allowed him a longer stretch of time for him to mentally say good bye to his two best friends—because despite all the road bumps along the way, Harry had no doubts that Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger were just that: his best friends. It was unfortunate that the events that had led him to prolonging his ever dwindling life, had prevented him from the same luxury with the rest of those he had come to love. But there was nothing for that now; after all he had known all along that this would be irreversible.

Still as he stood in the vast vacant mass of white fog, he hoped that Neville had managed to complete the last task he had left for him…and that someone—anyone really, had successfully landed the killing blow on the tyrant better known as Voldemort.

He knew that they would, they were stronger than most believed…just as he knew that he no longer had to worry about them. It would be a rather pointless exercise in futility now anyway. There was nothing left that he could do for them, he had done his part—sacrificed all he could; his life in fact… now the rest was up to them.

It was strangely freeing: as though a terrible weight had been lifted from him. He felt as though he could finally breathe again.

And breath he did. Allowing his shoulders to fall back and his eyes to drift close; simply allowing the cool mist around him to cloak him like a comforting blanket and allowing his mind to drift back to the day and the information that had changed everything…..

**_Flashback: Late June of 1997_ **

_He stared at the wrinkled, smirking—was the horrid thing actually smirking at him?—goblin whose name he could no longer force his frenzied mind to recall. And while normally this fact would have bothered him, (for he had always hated those wizards who thought they were so superior to everyone, that they couldn’t even be bothered to learn or remember the names of those that handled their gold: a stupid and foolish decision in Harry’s opinion) at the moment, after receiving the news he had just received, he thought he could be excused for such a lapse._

_He really didn’t think that anyone could blame him for it….after all, it wasn’t every day that you learned you were playing pack mule to another person’s soul….a murdering psychopath’s soul at that. So yes, he thought that his momentary lapse of politeness could be excused…well that, and his sudden inability to think._

_“I…what?!” was all he managed, still hoping that this was some strange, rather cruel version of a goblin joke. That they would tell him at any moment that no, in fact he did not have Voldemort’s horcrux—was that what they called it?—lodged inside him. Oh, and that the only way to get rid of it was to die by the very same mad-man’s hand. No….really it had to be a horrible joke._

_Unfortunately the ‘just kidding’ part never came._

_So after several minutes in where he found it hard to draw breath and expelled the contents (what little contents there were) of his stomach all over the goblin’s pristine carpet (said goblin did not looked pleased at this) Harry managed to fight his way back to the surface of his all consuming terror and gather his wits._

_“So….I need to die? To let Voldemort kill me?” Harry finally managed to squeak out—ignoring how his voice shook nearly as much as his trembling hands._

_“Yes” grouchy goblin number one (the name Harry had subconsciously bestowed him from here on out) said—looking far too pleased by this pronouncement._

_And what could Harry say to that? While he had realistically always known that this horrible fight between him and his parent’s killer would result in his death, he had at least thought that he would be able to defend himself; to try and be the one who came out alive._

_Guess not._

_Just before he could allow his thoughts to fall further down into a plummeting tunnel of despair and self-pity, GG#1 (again: grouchy goblin #1) interrupted him._

_“Because you have done us a boon by returning the sword to its rightful owners*…we have chosen to reward you by letting you know about the horcrux that you carry….” GG#1 started. And Harry really wasn’t sure how much a reward this information was—but he suppose it was better to know the truth then the small twisted version Dumbledore had chosen to tell him before the man’s untimely death. And that was another line of thinking that Harry hurriedly pushed away—his mentor’s, no….the man’s (as he was not sure he could call Dumbledore a mentor after finding out what the man had kept from him)death was still so fresh….and Harry was no longer sure how to feel about it._

_Initially he had been devastated by his grief. Grief over losing someone he had viewed as more than a friend—a pseudo-grandfather really, but now…..well yeah, best not to think of him at all._

_Harry returned his attention to the goblin in front of him who seemed as though he had more to say, “…we also have decided to let you know the results of your hereditary test, as they were somewhat unusual…”_

_This caught Harry’s full attention. It was a well known fact that an automatic hereditary test was done a month before a wizard reached his majority—the time when family magic grew stronger and outside influences, or learned magic-- was at its weakest-- giving the most accurate results of what line(s) a wizard came from, and what inheritance(s) they might receive on their seventeenth birthday._

_“…unusual?” Harry asked his voice full of trepidation, because knowing his luck, he was set to inherit some bizarre ability that would no doubt make his already odd (and now incredibly shortened) life even more so._

_“Yes….in all honesty we have never seen anything like this before—well, at least not in sometime” GG#1 stated not looking at all happy over this fact._

_Harry chose to say nothing, simply waiting in silence for the goblin to expound._

_“We would have informed you earlier of the horcrux you were carrying…”—and that had been something that Harry was wondering about considering that he had returned the sword to the goblins just a month after defeating Slytherin’s Basilisk with it at the end of his second year*._

_Why had they waited to ‘repay’ his deed for so long? Why hadn’t they told him all of this four years ago? While yes, he sort of understood the reason of why they were telling him at all (it was well known that Goblin’s; while greedy and self-profiting, were fair…well fair in regards to their own laws). So the fact that they felt they owed him— a wizard, would have irked the proud race and they would have felt driven to return the favor… if only so they no longer felt indebted, made sense to Harry. But the length of time that had passed since he had done them the ‘boon’ and now was rather puzzling._

_“….but we did not know” and again the Goblin looked rather put out by this fact. “When a wizard first enters their eligible years—the age that they are old enough to attend school, an over-all scan is done for a multitude of things upon entering the bank**. One such thing is the health of the wizard’s soul. Given you were carrying an extra fragment of soul around, this test should have picked up on it…..however it did not”_

_Harry felt his sense of foreboding grow as he listened to the goblin’s words, “Why?” he asked—always a sucker for punishment._

_“The test did not pick up the extra fragment because you, yourself did not have a complete soul to begin with”_

_Harry stared at the goblin feeling yet another wave of shock….would it never end? Was his entire life a sick punch line for some sadistic god or goddess?_

_Seeing that Harry was not in a state in which he could respond to the goblin’s reveal, the goblin did not wait for his questions but instead continued, “Because you did not have a full soul to begin with, Voldemort’s soul piece was mistaken as the other half of your soul. And thus nothing unusual appeared. However, when we ran your hereditary test, the line you came from and your living relatives did not match with what they should have causing us to investigate further .Upon further investigation we discovered that your mother—or Lily Potter, actually suffered from a condition in which left her barren… unable to conceive or carry children. We found out that she—whether in cohorts with someone else or on her own, turned to magic to solve this problem”_

_Harry found himself growing more and more horrified by what he was hearing….half a soul? Voldemort’s soul fragment? His mother was unable to have children?!?_

_“We discovered that she used a ritual--a ritual so steeped in black magic that few have ever attempted to use it-- to create a life” GG#1 continued with his story. “However, while magic can do many things, it cannot create something out of nothing….it cannot create a soul. The ritual she used instead stole a soul….a soul from another, parallel world, by ripping it away from that world and bestowing it here._

_Unfortunately, it is very complicated and dangerous magic, and as it often does when it comes to this kind of thing; something went wrong. Instead of successfully removing the whole soul of a child and bringing it here, it removed only half of the soul. You are essentially one half of a whole—we believe you are the benevolent side of the soul, while your other half—the malevolent side, was left behind in your original world” the goblin finished staring intensely at Harry._

_Harry’s mind churned with the information given….So, he was so much of a freak and oddity that he did not even have an entire soul? His mother—a woman known to be kind, gentle and light, had been so desperate to have a child of her own, that she had resorted to the blackest of magics to steal a child from another world and bring it here? That she had screwed up and only brought half of the soul here? The benevolent half?—and what did that even mean….the good half?? Harry to a shaky breath and tried to order what he now knew._

  1. _He was only half of a whole soul_
  2. _He was not from this world—that he was never meant to be here. His very presence had disrupted the natural flow of magic; something that all magic users knew was bad. Very bad—often resulting in chaos which would follow the disturbance wherever he/or she went.—His horrible-mixed-with-great luck was starting to make more and more sense. He was a anomaly in the very makings of nature._
  3. _He was also Voldemort’s horcrux_
  4. _He had to die by Voldemort’s hand to rid this world of the psychopath._



_Yeah, all in all, none of this information was making him feel any better. So he decided to concentrate on the only perceivable good thing he could find._

_“The benevolent half, isn’t that a good thing?” he asked; because surely that had to be a good thing? To have only the good side of the soul in him….right?_

_“No” the goblin replied dashing the only small ray of hope Harry had, to pieces, “Everything exists as opposites. Balances….to only have one side of your soul, unbalances it. The only reason you have not basically imploded, is most likely because Voldemort’s shard is so black that it acts as a counter to your own pure half. While this has stopped your magic from destroying you or your mind from crumbling, your own half is still much more powerful than the horcrux you carry….resulting in a personality that is driven to sacrifice itself for what it sees as the right thing. I would garner a guess that you have always placed others ahead of your own well being—no matter the wrong they have committed you…. that you throw yourself into situations without thinking through the risks involved….that essentially you have little to no self preservation”_

_Ok….so maybe GG#1 did have a point…..still was that such a bad thing? Well, whatever….it wasn’t like it really mattered in the end, considering he basically had a death sentence hanging over his head anyway. It wouldn’t really matter one way or another if he only had half a soul when he died. Or did it?_

_“So….what does this mean?” and seeing the goblin’s unimpressed look Harry hurried to explain, “I mean if…no, when I die, will whatever is supposed to happen still happen….what with half a soul?”_

_And yes, he was aware how little sense his question made but the goblin seemed to understand what Harry was trying to ask given his answer._

_“Well, Mr. Potter…..this is where having half a soul turns out to be a good thing, given the circumstances. Dying with a whole soul—as most people do, would likely result in whatever happens to most people when they die. However, dying with half a soul should….in theory, allow that half of a soul to return to its other half thus returning you to your original world” GG#1 stated leaning back in his chair._

_It was the first time that Harry began to feel a smidgen of anything besides doom in this meeting, “in theory?...what will happen when both halves connect? Will I remember any of this? Will I be the same person?” there were so many questions Harry wanted answered, but he sensed the goblin’s patience starting to wane so he would take what he could get._

_“Yes….in theory. As this is a rather rare occurrence, we cannot be sure: but it is likely. As for the joining of your soul halves….again in theory, the more dominant—larger half of the soul, should be the one that retains its sense of self. So if your benevolent half—you—were the more dominant-- larger half in the original whole soul, then you should retain your memories: though it is likely that you will get some memories, if not all the memories from your other half as well. And if you were not the more dominant…..well…..then it will cease to matter either way as you will not have a conscience to realize it”_

_Harry let himself slump back in his chair feeling entirely overwhelmed….but he suppose that the goblin did have a point. Either way he had to die—for he could not let Voldemort continue to live just because he wanted to, and at least this way he had a chance of….well, it sounded like a chance at a new beginning; a new life._

_It was really the only thing that he could ask for. Though he desperately hoped that what the goblin said was true, that he would get another chance. To actually return to his original world (and that was a nice thought, he would get to be someone other than Harry Potter-- the boy who lived,…he would get to be who he was supposed to be in the beginning). Though he had to admit he also hoped that he…or the half of soul that was him, was the dominant one….but in the end it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like he had a ton of other options at this point._

_When he finally managed to arrive at a feeling of acceptance another thought struck him, “er….if I am from another world….you said living relatives?” again with the disjointed question._

_GG#1 smiled a rather pointed and creepy looking smile, “Indeed Mr. Potter, it would seem that you were originally part of the soul that was meant to be Henry Emrys**”_

_Harry found himself gaping at the goblin, “Emrys?” he asked his voice full of disbelief._

_“Yes Mr. Potter, it would seem you were meant to be Merlin Emrys younger half- brother”_

_(End Flashback)_

Shaking his head to center himself back in the here and now—wherever here and now actually was—Harry drew his gaze to the three doors in front of him (which without any logical explanation had mysteriously appeared while he was traipsing through his memories).

Memories—funny things they were. It felt like it had been much longer than a year since he had sat in front of the goblin and decided his fate. Well, he liked to say he decided it, as it sounded so much better then ‘being forced to accept his fate.’

Either way….over the course of that day, the goblin had further floored him with information on Voldemort’s other horcruxes (and what kind of nutcase rips his soul apart into more than two pieces?!? Voldmort apparently!) and Harry had arrived at the decision that had led him here….standing in front of three mysterious and unknown doors.

Knowing that he had to give his friends the best chance he could in destroying Voldemort, he had stuck with what he assumed was Dumbledore’s original plan for him. He had taken Ron and Hermione, and they had gone on the run. Well….gone on the run, and hunted horcruxes. All in all it could have been worse.

While yes, they were often cold, wet, hungry and at odds…they had still been together (other than that brief period of time when Ron had decided to truly be a prat and ditch them)and regardless of the negatives….they had done what needed to be done. And outside a small hitch in Harry’s plan—he hadn’t had time to kill Nagini before his own death; hence telling Neville to do it—things had gone rather smoothly.

It no longer mattered…it was over and done with; Harry Potter was officially dead….and if the goblin’s were correct (and he really hoped that they were) one of these doors would take him to his world. And hopefully when all was said and done, he would still essentially be himself. The only difference being, that he would have a new chance at life, a life that he would actually be able to live, not just survive in. Yeah, here’s to hoping for the best case scenario….because Harry’s life had been rife full of those….rigggght….

He redirected his thoughts to studying of the doors….he had a feeling that whatever happened would depend on the door he chose. He could only pray that he picked the right one.

The first of the doors was rather creepy in all truth…well, as creepy as a door could be that is. It was far too tall and narrow and consisted of entirely smooth black stone. Harry could swear he saw mist swirling around at the bottom of it….yeah, he’d have to be an idiot to pick that door.

The center door was rather average looking, though with a rounded top rather than the normal square that most doors were made into. It consisted of a light weight looking wood and had a slightly more ornate handle—one of those that allowed the user to curl their hands through the center (aka: not a knob but an actual handle). All in all, there was nothing remarkable about this door, so Harry turned his attention to the last of the doors.

This door was about as different from the first door as one could get. It was a shining, almost blinding, opaque glass-like material, with intricate carvings that somehow made you want to touch them to be sure that they were actually solid and not some ethereal projection. This door had no handle what-so-ever and Harry knew just by looking at it, that you were meant to simply push it open—much like the spinning doors Harry had seen when he was forced to go with his Aunt to the big department store downtown when he was a child. Oddly enough the door made him _want_ to enter it….like he simply needed to or he would die (ironic he knew).

When he finally managed to tear his gaze away from the shining door, he knew which one he had to choose. If anything, his previous life of danger and hardship had taught him that nothing is ever as it seemed. He knew better than anyone not to go for the obvious ‘pick me-I’m good’ door. So, before the yearning in his gut could convince him otherwise, Harry resolutely turned back to the middle door and pushed it open.

Immediately he was aware that everything was spinning and whirring at an impossibly fast speed around him, but before he could process this he was crippled by what felt like an immense wall of pain.

Pain like he had never experienced before—so raw and jagged he was convinced that his very being was being dissected by razors and lit on fire. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe; he could do nothing. And just as he was sure that he would cease to exist—because existing like this was far, far too much….

Everything went blissfully black.

\----oo---

Harry expected to wake up looking at the bleached white ceiling of Hogwart’s infirmary, body aching with pain….or at the very least; a pounding headache. It was sort of par for course for him after one of his ‘plans’. Plans which generally followed a loose guideline of:

a) Receive terrible, horrifying news or find out someone he cared about was dying or close to

b) Try to sneak off to save them himself

c) Get caught trying to sneak off by Ron and/or Hermione

d) Come up with dodgy plan whilst ignoring Hermione’s protests that they should ‘find an adult or come up with a decent plan’ and riling Ron up to go along with Harry’s plan

d) Ignore plan altogether

e) Somehow wind up facing impending danger alone (because Ron and Hermione are either i) gravelly injured and/or unconscious ii) stuck behind some obstacle way back where Harry insisted he leave them and forge on ahead on his own

f) Face impending danger alone, without proper weapon or knowledge, and almost die

g) Wind up injured and almost dead but defeat villain or escape in the nick of time.

h) Repeat the following year

Of course there were always a few different variables thrown in amongst the standard steps; sometimes certain steps were rearranged, skipped or added to…but in general, it was pretty accurate….like say 99% of the time. Which was why, when Harry awoke to the sound of birds chirping, the sun just rising and illuminating the lingering morning mist in a way that could only be called stunning, free of pain; he was confused.

Pinching himself harshly on the arm, followed by cursing himself for pinching himself harshly on the arm and rubbing the now sore reddened area moodily, Harry arrived at the conclusion that no, he was not still asleep or dreaming. Good to know.

The past—well, however long it had taken for the final battle, his sacrificial death, and his time in the white in-between to play out, came rushing back to him as he carefully sat up from where it appeared he had been sleeping on the ground beside a long extinguished fire.

Sadly, sleeping on the ground wasn’t exactly unusual for Harry—especially after Hermione had lost her nifty little pouch two weeks before the battle. Safe to say he had learned a whole new appreciation for his bushy haired friend’s initiative to have packed said pouch (and therefore tent and bed rolls) in the first place. Those two weeks had not been what Harry would call fun.

Closing his eyes briefly and forcing himself to take in a slow, deep breath, Harry allowed himself a moment to sort through everything. First off, he knew that he still remembered everything about his life as Harry Potter and his time in the old world…. Therefore if the goblin’s theories were indeed correct, it would appear that his side of the soul was in fact the dominant one—well that was a relief. Pausing a moment to take stalk of himself, he realized that perhaps the goblins had guessed more spot on then he would have thought possible.

For he knew that even with his memories of his former life intact, that he was no longer Harry Potter….or at least he was not entirely Harry Potter anymore. No, he felt….well, different. Like something had changed—not a huge change mind you, but it was definitely there; a subtle shift in how he saw himself and the world around him. Even how he viewed many of his past decisions and choices—like he couldn’t quite believe just how willing he had been to throw himself head long into danger…time and time again.

And how, despite how he had been brought up, (aka: basically having an abusive childhood) he had still been so easy to give others his trust….that definitely didn’t seem right. So no, he could not say that he was exactly the same person who had gone to the clearing to face Voldemort, but then again he really couldn’t say that he was hugely different either.

There was more there as well….it was like there was something just out of view that he could sense but not quite see, flittering along the edges of his mind and memories. He could only assume it was his other half’s life and memories….they were there but out of focus. As if he would be able to access them if only he stopped and concentrated long and hard enough. He shook his head slightly as if to dislodge an annoying bug, giving it up for lost when it failed to do anything.

Harry sighed—no, Henry now he guessed….that might take a little getting used to. Ah well, if he screwed up and responded to the former rather than the latter he could always pass it off as a nickname…he assumed people did that in this time and place….

And where exactly was this time and place? He was positive that wherever he was, that it was definitely not England anymore….well, at least not the England that he was familiar with. While true, it was a little hard to verify, given that he appeared to be in the middle of a densely treed forest; there was something in the air that seemed to make him realize this instinctively. Even the flora and fauna seemed slightly different from what he would have found in the forbidden forest or any of the other forests he, Hermione and Ron had spent time in over the last several months.

Another fairly solid factor pointing to this was what he appeared to be wearing: he could safely say that muggle or wizard, he would never have seen in this type of dress back in his former life. In fact it rather resembled the costumes that the characters in some of Dudley’s video games wore.

And no, he was not referring to the one where they carried around machine guns and blasted apart anything and everything—he was thinking more along the lines of the game where they carried bows and arrows and shot anything and everything. Stupid games—mind you that sort of fit, given who his cousin was…not like Dudders was going to be spending his time solving algebraic equations or anything.

He shifted, slightly surprised to find that the clothing was rather comfortable—not something he would have generally thought about leather breaches and corset looking shirts. And okay—he was rubbish with knowing the names of the stuff he was actually wearing, but if he had to describe it he would say he looked rather like what he pictured Robin Hood would wear. Hood, leather and even the bloody bow and arrow….mind you, he appeared to be carrying several large and small knifes as well……and was that dried _blood_ on one of the knives!?!?!

Harry stared down at the crusted looking substance, his mouth gaping for several long seconds before he decided that the blood had to be rabbit….or at worse a deer’s or something….yeah…we’ll go with that….

Not a moment after he had convinced himself of this fact he was assaulted with a sequence of thoughts and memories.

_Dark room, flickering torches, two unmoving bodies lying at his feet. A large knife—no, his large knife in his hand, blood dripping down it. A man wearing a heavy looking crown standing before him, pale and gaunt—the look of old grief shadowing his eyes._

_O-….what was his name….it started with an O….Olin, no…Orvelle….not right….Odin. That’s what it was, King Odin. Hiring an assassin---no, hiring him, to kill his son’s murderer. To kill a prince._

_Prince Arthur of Camelot. Revenge….Odin was dying and didn’t have much longer, but wanted to avenge his dead son…._

_A heavy sack of gold being pocketed. Him leaving…riding for most of the night…stopping to make camp…_

Stopping to make camp here. Harry snapped back to the present staring around him in horror. When the goblins told him that the other half of his soul was living in the world he had been stolen from—living his own life, Harry had known what he might find might not be pretty. He was fairly certain that his other half would not be a bunny herder or hug giver—given the fact that it was the malevolent half of his soul. But he hadn’t expected this….no, not this.

He hadn’t thought he would become this sort of man….a killer for hire; an assassin of all things. He felt a shudder crawl of his spine before he forced another deep breath into his lungs and pushed the horror away. No…he was not going to fall apart over this like some little girl who found out her crush thought she had germs.

The fact that his other half—well, part of him now he suppose, was someone little better than Voldemort (perhaps worse? At least snake face had been killing for a cause…it appeared that he—no, Myror, as he refused to believe that he and the former assassin were one and the same—killed for something as senseless as wealth) did not matter now. It was Harry that was in charge now…and it was safe to say that Myror had officially retired. He felt something akin to a prickle of unease tickle at the back of his neck, but once again forced it away.

He could perhaps even understand why Myror had become what he had…for while a lot of the man’s memories were still hidden from Harry, he recalled what the goblins had said about the soul becoming unstable with only half of it present. Really, if Harry himself hadn’t had Voldemort’s horcrux in him, his own actions and decisions might have led him down a similar (well, not similar, as his soul half was the opposite of Myror’s but you get his drift) path. In a twist of irony he almost had to thank Voldemort for trying to kill him as an infant and accidently making him a horcrux—apparently housing the insane man’s soul was the only thing that had kept him sane. Fate worked in such mysterious ways.

Ok….so he knew he wasn’t—couldn’t continue on in this life as Myror, he definitely did not have the desire much less fortitude to live as an assassin. Thankfully he was pretty sure that as a very skilled assassin (which the snippets of memory that he did recall, told him Myror had been) Myror’s—no, his face, was not well known. That was good.

The less people who knew of his former identity the better….and while yes, King Odin had seen his face and was still alive, the king was very ill and likely did not have much longer in this world; when he passed he would take Myror’s identity with him. Harry felt a stab of shame for thinking such thoughts but it was easy enough to push it away---yes, he definitely was not the same old Harry he used to be. But perhaps that could be a good thing?

So…what should he do now?

He knew he wanted to track down his half-brother Merlin…the sooner the better. Harry had always wanted a family (and no he did not count the Dursleys) and this was his chance. Not only was Merlin related to him, but if the same facts about Merlin from his old world were even semi-true in this one, his brother was known as a wise, kind magician; someone who might teach and guide Harry in both magic and family.

And oh….how Harry wanted that, more than anything. He wondered briefly how old Merlin would be….what the age difference between them was. It appeared that he was very close to the age he had been in his old world—he would garner a guess of sixteen or seventeen at most,^ though it was a little hard to tell. In all the stories Harry had heard about Merlin Emrys, the wizard had been referred to as an aged and wise warlock, but Harry supposed Merlin had to have been young at some point. He sort of hoped they were close in years—but he would be happy with anything really.

The problem was he had no idea where Merlin might be in this world….or even if that was the name that he was currently going by. That could present a problem.

Hmmm….well, perhaps that quest was best set on the back burner--so to speak--for the moment. His other option was to continue on Myror’s original path and head towards Camelot. He was not, of course going to go and assassinate the prince but at least it was a name and place. Plus if King Odin was so close to death’s embrace that he had hired one of this land’s best assassins, it was likely that he had hired others—maybe it was the old Harry in him, but he felt somewhat responsible for Prince Arthur now. Not to mention he sort of wanted to find out _why_ Prince Arthur had killed King Odin’s son in the first place…he wondered if it was warranted or not. After all if it wasn’t he could kind of understand King Odin’s desire to extract revenge before he died.

And no, don’t ask him….he didn’t say that either of his feelings made any sense (considering they were rather opposite—he suppose his two soul halves might not have completely merged just yet). But he somehow felt the urge to go to Camelot and at least watch out for the Prince, or at the very least, see that he was alive long enough to get answers.

Plus from what he gathered from Myror’s memories, Camelot was a large, vast kingdom—a Mecca of sorts. It was his best bet for possibly finding some information on where he could at least begin his search for his brother.

Decision made, Harry couldn’t help but feel his spirits lift as he finished packing up the rest of his belongings and setting off in the direction that he instinctively knew Camelot lay in.

Yes….this was a fresh chance: a chance for him to be who he wanted, to make something of himself that was not built on the expectations and manipulations of others.

It was time to discover just what sort of man Henry (Harry) Emrys would turn out to be. And frankly, he could not wait.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title: From the Nursery Rhyme Eeny, meeny, miney, moe
> 
> There is some argument that the original of this child’s rhyme is actually rather offensive—suggesting that the word ‘tiger’ has replaced derogatory slander from the original. A law suit against an airline was brought for using just the first sentence of this nursery rhyme—although the woman who sued the airline later lost. Note: I chose this rhyme for the title, not for its racist origins but in reference to the children’s game. A metaphor for Harry making his choice that took him out of one life and into the next. 
> 
> *In my story Harry defeated the Basilisk as in canon but because he pulled the sword of Gryffindor from the sorting hat he became the ‘owner’ of said sword. In my mind, Harry being Harry—would have given the sword back to the goblin’s as they were the original owners and he would have likely believed he had little use for the ancient object. Thus resulting in the goblin’s ‘owing’ him.
> 
> **I picture it as some sort of ward that scans the child at the door. In this story the witch/wizard is only told about the scan results if they come back abnormal—via Minstery decree…..or rather my decree as all knowing author ;) 
> 
> ***I have only watched the first season of Merlin (and two or three episodes of the second) so I am not actually sure if Emrys is Merlin’s last name or not. In this story it is serving as such. Also it should be noted that I am herby ignoring canon Merlin’s paternity and making his father be who I want him to be…and there’s nothing you can do about it…nananana boo boo…okay, moving on. 
> 
> ^ I know in the cannon episode that this story begins in Myror, the assassin is much older than sixteen or seventeen but I am taking liberties and making Harry the same age in this world as he was in the last ;) Also he still looks like Harry potter not Myror! (well Harry minus glasses because I have no idea what they used for eye wear in the middle ages so I have decided that when Harry crossed over his eyes fixed themselves—ta da! It’s magic! )


	3. What a Bad Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreams and memories haunt Harry as he experiences a disturbing event. He finally arrives in Camelot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: violence, slash, language, hints of past child abuse/domestic abuse. Chapter re-edited May 13/15
> 
> Note: Clarification  
> To avoid confusion I will clarify Harry’s name usage in this fiction: 
> 
> In this story Harry actually starts out as one half of a soul, the benevolent half. While his counterpart, the malevolent half is known as Myror (aka: the assassin sent by King Odin in Merlin season 2 to kill Arthur).  
> Before Harry’s death via Voldemort in the forbidden forest Harry and Myror are essentially two separate personas, living different lives. All the while still being two halves of the same being….that being known as Henry Emrys.
> 
> With me so far? ---so while they are separate, they are not meant to be causing instability in both their personalities (although Harry’s half is more tempered because Voldemort’s horcrux acts as what Myror’s half should have to even the balance out).  
> When Harry dies, instead of staying dead, his half is sent back to Albion (or Merlin’s Camelot and area) to be joined (whether successfully or not—not telling just yet) with his other half aka: Myror. 
> 
> Who Henry Emrys was suppose to be originally will determine whether Myror’s half or Harry’s half is steering the ship (so to speak); which half will be in control of ‘Henry’s’ actions and thoughts. In this case, Harry the more dominate soul as Henry was always meant to be a ‘good person.’  
> That being said, Myror’s side is still there and will change Harry’s personality and actions slightly even if the bonding is successful, and possibly take control if it was not.  
> Since Harry’s half is currently the dominate one, he still thinks of himself as Harry not Henry or Myror. He does however see memories and past actions of Myror’s as though it was him who did and thought those things; mainly when he is vulnerable (aka upset, afraid, asleep)—sort of like Voldemort only it’s his own emotions that cause the ‘visions’ 
> 
> Aka: Harry Potter + Myror = Henry Emrys  
> Hope that helps clarify things?

* * *

 

 _“My sleep wasn't peaceful, though. I have the sense of emerging from a world of dark, haunted places where I traveled alone.” ―_ [ _Suzanne Collins_ ](http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/153394.Suzanne_Collins) _,_ [ _Mockingjay_ ](http://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/8812783)

* * *

 

 

_He felt the metal visor clang shut and his vision was reduced to what he could see out of the helmet’s slits. The smell of horse, stirred up dirt and a packed crowd, washed over him causing his heart to quicken. The roar of the crowd pushed him forward as he carefully balanced the hefty weight of his lance as his horse charged forward. He felt the blow shudder its way up his arm when his lance met armor. Silence._

_There was no sound from the crowd now. Just silence. The limp body of his opponent lay crumbled on the dusty ground, helmet askew. Empty periwinkle blue orbs stared lifelessly back at him. A sick sense of triumph was all that came to him._

**_And then everything shifts…._ **

_A large drunken man, reeking of stale ale and sweat towered over him. His meaty arms swung down and Harry tried to wrap his thin arms around his head to lessen the blow, but it helped little; just like he knew from experience that it wouldn’t. The man’s—no his father’s slurred words fell like daggers slicing through unprotected flesh; the words different, but the meaning always the same._

_“Useless shit. It’s your fucking cunt of a mother’s fault…already had one worthless devil child. Should have drowned im at birth like I shud uf done with you….disgusting little weakling you are….nothin without your devil tricks”_

_The words are punctuated by another blow and Harry can feel his tiny body shudder at the impact, curling in on itself as though making himself smaller might cause his father to reconsider. And for once it seemed as though luck is on his side. After another kick the man seemed to lose interest in him, apparently not getting as much pleasure when he refuses to try and fight back—or perhaps he simply drank more tonight and didn’t have the usual energy it took to toss around his tiny son._

_Harry doesn’t move; doesn’t dare breathe a sigh of relief as he hears his father move away, stumbling slightly as he made his way to the second room of their small two room shack. He hoped his mother had the foresight to not be in that room—but he knows that if she didn’t, there is little he can do. He hears a shrill cry and the sound of pleading, followed by a crash and the sound of body meeting wall._

_He curls into himself, trying to shut it out. But even as he does so he feels an anger and hatred take hold; quietly nestling its way down and into his very soul._

_It was then, the day before his fifth summer that he decided that someday, maybe not now…but someday, no one would be able to make him hurt. That it would be him with all the power._

_This he vowed. And deep down he knew it to be true._

**_Again colors swirled and shifted…._ **

_He’s staring down at the thin, frail, fever flushed woman in front of him. She struggles to draw breath, only to use it up with a hacking, choking cough. Red staining the cloth held weakly between her bony fingers. He didn’t mean for this._

_Not this._

_True to his word, he had gotten his revenge but the act of deviance…of ignorance, was only meant to cause ‘the man’s’ slow painful death….not hers._

_Not his quiet sweet mother’s. Green eyes—paler then his own but still distinctive, stare absently up at him, as though they no longer saw what was really in front of them; as if she has already left this plane of existence for another. He bites back a choked sob; there is no point in showing his sorrow. It will change nothing._

_When he first noticed his father’s hacking cough and shortness of breath, all those weeks ago he knew—even only being just five-- he knew his father’s hours were numbered. And oh how he rejoiced at this knowledge…watching vindictively as his father grew sicker, weaker….his life force—wasted as it was—slowly ebbing away._

_Harry knew that with his gift; his magic-- the very same magic that his father had cursed and belittled so often since discovering that not only did his oldest son have it, but his second son…. the same son that he had stolen away in the middle of the night to prevent the older one’s magic from infecting it; also had it—that he could have saved his father from falling to what the villagers labeled as consumption*._

_It was exactly that reason that Harry had stood by and done nothing. But he hadn’t meant for his mother….his beautiful, sweet mother to also catch it. To catch it and have it take over so fast that not even Harry’s gifts could spare her life._

_Now he stared down at her…the final minutes of her life, wracked with pain, knowing there was nothing he could do to help her: nothing that could stop her from leaving him._

_And he felt the icy hatred in his chest grow._

**_Blackness crept in, blanking out the scene and once again it changed before his eyes…._ **

_He felt nothing as his knife sunk down, slicing into the soft flesh, perfectly fitting between the man’s ribs. The warm spurt of blood trickling out of the newly made hole and made his fingers stick together; not that he cared._

_He let the heavy body fall with an almost unheard thump, stealthily wiping the knife off on an old rag he kept secured to his belt for just that purpose. He paid the fallen man no more heed…for it was not him that the assassin had come for tonight—no, that life was yet to be taken. But he had no doubt that it would be. He had been paid after all, and if there was one thing that was true for Myror—the name he now went by, it was that he never went back on his word. Never._

_He almost mechanically crept through the hanging shadows, moving with the honed grace of hours of practice, moving silently to push the door open. There were no amateur mistakes for someone with Myror’s skills….no creaking floor boards or un-oiled door hinges; just precision and deadly results._

_He took a moment to stare down at his soon to be victim. Her face was peaceful in sleep, the gentle rise and fall of her chest unlabored, the moon’s light causing a slight glint off her fair locks. It was a shame really….he might kill for pay, but he could admire a beautiful thing when he saw it…. and there was no doubt in his mind, that this young girl—just two decades old, was beautiful._

_Not that it would save her in the end._

_Ten seconds later, the chest was still._

_**This time it felt as though he was being ripped away—there was no fade out, just a quick sharp pain and an awareness that he was no longer staring down at the now dead girl…**_

_This time when he came to, something was different; something not quite the same as it had been in the previous scenes. He didn’t know what it was, but he did know that he didn’t like it. Not at all._

_He was standing in the middle of sunny clearing: the feeling of unease and trepidation that clung to him, was at complete odds with his peaceful surroundings. He took the time to scan the area, trying to pin-point just what was trigging his incredibly sharp instincts. There was nothing._

_At least that is what he thought._

_He jump, arms shooting out when he heard a soft cough coming from behind him. Wheeling around, knife drawn in order to protect himself from whatever it was, his heart pounding like it hadn’t since his first kill all those years ago, he stared in shock at the small child in front of him._

_He could have sworn the boy hadn’t been there three seconds ago._

_Taking a deep breath to calm his thudding heart, he narrowed his emerald eyes at the child, trying to decide if he should just kill the boy and be done with it. Something made him pause however---as though his instincts were screaming at him that the timid child was not what he seemed._

_“Who are you? What do you want?” he demanded not lowering his weapon for a minute._

_The child seemed wholly unconcerned by the sharp saber being pointed in his direction, “I should be asking you that question, Myror the murderer” the boy replied._

_His answer caused Myror to freeze in both fear and surprise, how did the boy know who he was? There were very few who could connect that name to his face…just who was this boy?_

_“How do you know that name?” he hissed, forcing himself not to take a step back from the boy like every instinct in him screamed to do._

_The child gave him an enigmatic smile, cocking his head slightly to the side his dark bangs falling to the side to reveal stunning green eyes---incredibly familiar green eyes in fact._

_“Because we are one and the same” the child replied calmly._

_What did the boy mean? Why was he here….why was he playing such dangerous games? He knew Myror’s chosen name…he should know just how unwise it was to come here and taunt such a man, and yet he held no visible fear._

_“What do you want?” Myror repeated_

_“To warn you” the boy replied._

_The feeling of unease increased, “to warn me of what?” he asked simply because he had to hear what the child said._

_“Everything will change and only one of us can win…” The boy replied calmly staring Myror directly in the eyes._

_He didn’t need his years of experiencing to know that what the child was saying was not some idle threat. Fear engulfed him, squeezing painfully at his chest and he decided to end this here and now. But as he lunged forward, blade on a direct course to meet the child’s carotid, it was met with nothing but air._

_He stumbled, just catching himself in time to prevent his forward momentum from causing him to fall, his breaths coming out in harsh puffs—more from fear than exertion. He spun wildly around, as though he would somehow find the boy to have moved behind him._

_But there was nothing: nothing but an empty sun-dappled clearing._

_Myror scanned the area again, not quite willing to believe that he had imagined the whole thing…but there could be no other explanation. As his observation proved, he was quite alone in this place. His was the only heartbeat to be found._

_He couldn’t stop the chill that trickled down his spine at the distant sound of a lone crow’s caw._

Harry bolted upright, chest heaving as he frantically drew breath, a chill shuddering through him as his sweat soaked skin met the cool nights air.

It took him a few panic filled minutes to realize just where he was….and more worrisome, just _who_ he was. He honestly didn’t know what to think at the moment, his heartbeat finally calming and his immediate fight or flight reaction easing enough to allow him to lower the sharp knife that he had stashed under his rather uncomfortable sack of provisions, which was currently doubling as a pillow.

It would seem as though both his Harry and Myroe halves were paranoid enough to always sleep within reach of a weapon; the only difference being, that with one it was an enchanted stick, and the other a sharp, carve-your-eyes-out dagger. Details.

Once he was calm and collected enough to think again, he allowed himself too rationally analyze just what the scenes he had ‘dreamed’ could mean. He could only assume that his dreams consisted of Myror’s still largely repressed memories. Why they were coming out jumbled, and when Harry was asleep, he didn’t know… but he could safely say; he appreciated Myror’s memories sharing his head space about as much as he appreciated Voldemort’s. Which in case you were confused, was not at all.

What disturbed him more than the fact that he had just witnessed his less austere half kill without remorse or any hesitation, was the fact that Harry (for that was who he still considered himself) was starting to feel some form of sympathy towards his other half. He knew what it was like to be small, defenseless and at the mercy of someone who should have protected, rather than punished. He knew what it was like to feel like he was being left behind, when others left time and again—whether by their choice or another’s mattered little; in the end he was still left alone.

So yes, he could empathize with Myror, he could even understand how his malevolent half became what he was…considering Myror’s past and the fact that he was operating with mostly Harry’s crueler, more self serving emotions, it really wasn’t all that shocking he had become what he had.

Still, the fact that he could understand and even pity a cold blooded murderer scared him and unfortunately, it was not even the first time that it had happened. It was the same way that he had felt sorry for Voldemort when he had witnessed the small boy left alone in a muggle orphanage. Oh, he knew that Dumbledore showing those memories to Harry, had not been meant to make Harry sympathize with the mass murderer, but that was what had happened. Not that he had told anyone this…not even Ron or Hermione; it was something that Harry was sure that not even they would be able to forgive or understand. In a way he was actually rather thankful to the horcrux; it allowed him a rational reason for why he would not have to be the one to end Tom’s—no, Voldemort’s life.

He knew it made little sense, for that little dark haired, blue eyed orphan was long gone—in the boy’s place; a cruel, sadistic half reptilian monster…but he couldn’t help but wonder if someone had shown Tom love or understanding as a child, whether he would have taken the path he had. Stupid he knew, but then again one can’t argue sense with things like emotion.

This time though it was different. Back in wizarding world, his feelings of sympathy for Voldemort were dangerous yes, but it was not the same kind of danger. He did not know how his and Myror’s souls combining, would ultimately play out; he didn’t know if feeling empathy towards Myror would allow that half of him a stronger foot hold over his thoughts and actions. That thought terrified him.

Oh, he was well aware that back when he and the goblins had ultimately decided that this was the best course of action, that he had told both himself and them that he did not care if his other half was the dominate half and therefore the driver of this ship, (as he would no longer have enough awareness to realize this fact) but that had changed. He somehow knew that the goblins had not been entirely correct on the last part of their theory. He could sense Myror along the edges of his consciousness, and he could not help but wonder if Myror was not as entirely unaware as he had been hypothesized to be.

The thought of his own sentimentality causing him to lose the dominate status within his mind scared him more then he liked to admit—even if only to himself. To become a non-entity, a trapped half formed pattern of memories in an alien brain, was not the fate that he wanted. He could not allow it to happen.

When Harry realized that this line of thinking was causing his heart rate to once again pick up he quickly shut it down. No, he would not get ahead of himself, there was absolutely no proof that any of his current fears were anything more than just that; fears.

So what if he had witnessed some of Myror’s memories through his dreams?—that was not entirely unexpected. The goblins had said they didn’t know how the bonding of souls would happen or what effects it would have in the end. So really, it only made sense that he and Myror’s two separate halves might take a little time to merge into one smooth, functioning personality. That was all this was.

Soon enough, he would not think of himself and Myror as separate, but as one….his own thoughts and memories acting as the guiding force for his new person. All he had to do was be patient and continue the best that he could.

It would all work out in the end…..it had to.

\--oo—

Harry was coming to realize that there were far worse ways to travel, then by magical means.

After three days of riding on a rather contemptuous, smelly, stubborn horse, both his temper and his rear end were starting to long for the relative ease of floo-connections and port keys (or better yet a broom! Because while yes, brooms could be a tad uncomfortable to ride given the friction on certain important body parts, at least there was a sense of freedom and control with them—with horses, well this horse at least… he most definitely did not feel like he was the one in control).

Later, when he looked back on the events which took place just a few hours before sundown, on his third and close to last day of riding, he would blame his inattention on the horse. Because he was a war hardened bad ass, and no one (especially a group of morally questionable bandits) should have been able to get the jump on him.

So yes, when said bandits did just that—somehow surrounding him and trapping him before he was even aware they were there—it was obviously the horse’s fault. No, he is not going to explain how he reached this conclusion; you really have no need to know…just know that what he says is true. Yes, definitely the horse.

As the stupid thing skittered back, nervously pulling against the reins that Harry was attempting to control it with, Harry realized just how screwed he was. He scanned the area in front of him counting no less than five men, while simultaneously adding another four or five to the count, gotten from his brief peripheral scan. No, not good odds.

Especially considering that his main experience in fighting was not with a blade, sword or a muggle-made weapon, but more along the lines of his wand (which he did not have) or his wandless magic (which was decent, but given he was in a foreign place and the few attempts he had tried with his magic had gone horribly wrong—aka: blowing up the fish he was trying to summon for dinner he was not very confident in relying on said magic to get him out of his current predicament).

“ello, what have we got here boys? A lost little princess with a bag full of coins” a large, exceedingly unclean brute (and yes, Harry was going to use such terms to describe his foes—live with it!) said, the smirk on his face not lending favor towards a friendly resolution. It was like the death eaters all over again—violent, stupid and ignorant, but exceedingly dangerous. Grand.

Harry fought down the urge to bristle at being called ‘princess’ (something he was not!) and instead remained silent, once again desperately searching for a way to escape unscathed…something that was looking more and more unlikely. He most decidedly did not like the leering looks on the creep’s face. Knowing his luck it wasn’t just gold that they were after…though they did speak the truth, he did happen to have a rather large bag of it thanks to Myror’s deal with King Odin. Damn his other half.

Deciding that he might as well _try_ to talk his way out of this one (not that he thought it would work, but he was kind of short of options at the moment), he did his best to put on a “I am a secretly powerful warlock—you had better not fuck with me” face and yanked the reins to face the creep (as he was obviously the one in charge of this motley crew) square on. “I do not want any trouble, I only wish to pass through, but I will warn you now… that should you try to stop me, you will regret it”

Ok, so maybe not the smartest thing to say to a testosterone charged group of mongrels. It didn’t help that the exact moment he finished his brave (reckless) speech, his horse decided that it (Harry was not actually sure if it was a she or a he) had, had enough and chose to buck him off and run. Leaving Harry lying on the ground, covered in dirt with only a few blades as back-up. Oh so very, very screwed.

And from the mirth and disbelief on his attackers’ faces, they knew this as well as he did.

Harry scrambled back from the approaching man, hurriedly rising (stumbling) to his feet, his hand on the hilt of Myror’s long, very lethal looking blade—to bad Harry had no idea how to use the stupid thing without taking off his own ear.

“Aww….lookee boys, princess is going to try and fight. Tell me princess do you even know how to hold that blade? It looks like a blade made for a man sweetheart, and you are c _ertainly_ no man” the leader said leering again and licking his lips.

‘What the fuck?!?! While Harry knew he wasn’t exactly butch and built like a steamroller (like the creep in front of him) there was no mistaking his gender…’ Harry shook his head mentally, pushing his irritation away, so that he could focus on what was going on in front of him. He knew what the slime-bag was trying to do; he was trying to distract him…to get under his skin and make an already easy target, even easier to take down. Well hell if Harry was going to let him, he might know that he was essentially a dead man walking, but he would be damned if he was going to go down without a fight. Harry sent the leader a defiant glare, unsheathing the long blade and reading his muscles for the upcoming attack.

The leader chuckled looking far more amused at Harry’s defiance then upset by it. There was a spark of excitement in his cold eyes that did not bode well for Harry if he lost.

The first few moves were feints; first from the bandit, then from Harry,—neither of them landing a blow of any importance. The rest of the men’s cheers and jibes grew louder as their leader failed once again to make contact with Harry. That was one thing Harry had on his side—he had always been talented at dodging. Unfortunately, dodging would only get him so far here….and it seemed that his momentary reprieve had come to an end.

The next blow landed, causing Harry to let out a pained hiss as he felt the other man’s knife bite into his shoulder. He danced back a few steps to put space between him and his attacker, only to realize that there was no more space to retreat into. The next few blows came swift and brutally, catching him on the forearm of his weapon arm and one his right flank.

By now, Harry knew that he was as good as done for. There had been little enough chance of him getting away when he was perfectly healthy, much less wounded and losing blood. He couldn’t believe that this was how his second chance was going to end….over before it had even started, before he had even had a chance to meet his brother and to discover who he was in this world. It seemed so unfair.

He barely felt the blade as it sunk into his stomach, the pain that was there was almost as though it was affecting another—that he was simply witnessing it. He felt his knees it the soft earth beneath him and his vision start to fade.

The last thing he saw was the man’s cruel, laughing eyes.

\---o---

When Harry came to for the second time, in a rather short space of time, he stared around him in shock…well, confused shock he should say.

He knew given what his last few memories consisted of, that he should be dead. He frantically looked over his body, making a quick inventory of how he felt and the state of his clothes. If what he last remembered was true, he should be covered in his own blood—with several wounds…. not perfectly clean and healthy.

But he was. There was no evidence that the attack and his rather embarrassingly quick defeat by the bandits, had ever taken place. There was no sign that he had ever been injured, nor was there any sign of the men who had attacked him.

He shook his head and surveyed his surroundings once again. His horse (which he distinctly remembered vowing to turn into horse meat) was standing tied to a nearby tree, supplies and saddle in place. He gave the clearing a closer look and noted that, while it was obvious that there had been others here at some point, he could not be sure that it had been recently. That and the fact that there was no one else here outside himself and the stupid horse, leant credit to the theory, that he had imagined the entire thing.

Harry wasn’t sure if he should be feeling relieved or disconcerted by this. In the end he settled on relieved….he had experienced realistic nightmares before (just because they happened to be visions sent by a mad-man had no bearing)…the entire thing must have just been his over active imagination….or perhaps a side-effect of the bonding?

Either way, there wasn’t much that Harry could do about it here and now, so he decided to just disregard the whole episode and continue on his way. If it was some type of a vision, he did not want it to turn out to be one of the future.

It was probably best if he got to Camelot sooner rather than later (perhaps if he was lucky he would be able to find a competent physician versed in magic who could help him understand what exactly was going on with him right now).

In his haste to leave this place and its dreams behind, Harry completely missed the smear of fresh blood on the tip of his blade.  

\--00—

Harry could not remember the last time that he had been so awestruck.

Ok, so that was a bit of a lie…he did remember, he just wished that he didn’t. The last time he had felt this way, was when he was still new to the world of magic and all that it entailed; that first glimpse of Hogwarts had truly been one of the most magnificent sights he had ever witnessed. He had been sure that it would be the most magnificent sight that he would get to witness in his life, but today he had been proven wrong.

He allowed himself a moment to just pause and take it in; to truly appreciate the stunning beauty of what was known throughout this land, as Camelot.

The bright afternoon sun, basked the proud looking white stone of castle’s turrets, with all its might. The reflection on the glass like lake was almost picture-like in its perfection. Even a few miles away from the bustling center of the kingdom, Harry could make out the sound of horse hooves clacking on the cobblestone streets, and the muffled shouts and cries of the busy market place located just inside the high stone gates.

True, he knew that it was likely the distance and his own hopeful spirit which caused him to see Camelot this way—he was well aware, that up close and personal given the times, that Camelot would be far less than ideal (he had a vague knowledge of the current sewage system used in the time period he assumed he was in, as well as the hygiene habits and live stock living quarters—so he knew that it would be very odorous, if nothing else). But somehow these tiny little details did little to sink his optimism over finally having reached the legendary city.

He even found himself rather excited at the prospect of getting to witness a real, life jousting tournament. He felt a momentary pang of sorrow when he thought how much Hermione would have loved to have experienced this (“Oh! Harry the history! The time period, and how it shaped magic as it is today!”). Even Ron would have enjoyed it, given the tournament and the fact that most tournaments were followed by feasts.

No! there was no point on pining away for things that could and never would be. He had known what he was leaving behind when he made this plan. No he should concentrate on what he might gain because of his choice not what he had lost. This was the moment when he was finally getting a chance to start over… it was not the time or place to wallow in the past.

Plus he had been told that without doing a lot of black magic, that it was not possible to bring anyone besides himself from his old world to this one. And he knew how well those black magic rituals had worked in the past (he had lived with the consequences of one for his entire life thanks to Lily’s attempt). So no, he would not ruin this moment with useless feelings of being homesick.

Steeling himself by taking in a large, determined breath, Harry gave a decisive flick of his horse’s reins (he wondered if his horse had somehow read his mind regarding his thoughts about turning it into meat patties, for it had been far better behaved since his ‘dream?,’ not once trying to buck him off) and started to move towards the proud castle.

He was finally here. He was in Camelot.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title: Title taken from Mercer Mayer’s children’s book ‘What a Bad Dream.’


	4. Ferdinand the Fierce

****

* * *

 

_The sharpest sword is a word spoken in wrath. - Gautama Buddha_

* * *

 

Guinevere was having a rough day.

Oh, she knew that she should feel honored and delighted over the fact that the Prince of Camelot had chosen her, a mere serving girl to trust with this ~~ridiculous~~ brave scheme of his. And she was….truly she was; it was just that she was also a tad….well, frustrated.

She understood that Prince Arthur was just that, a prince; and as such could not be expected to act like most people (with any sense of decency or consideration) might act in his given situation—regardless of the fact that he was the one to place himself in said situation to start with. No! she was not going down that path again…it would just make her lost her temper and end up saying something to said prince that she might later end up regretting.

Of course a night spent sleeping on the floor had done little to ease her annoyance at her lord and leader. But that was life….he was royalty, born to a life of luxury and comfort, while she was a servant, born to serve and keep her lord in said comfort. It still rankled somewhat however.

Hence, the reason why she was now wandering the bustling midday market—she was trying to delay her inevitable return to her house and her current secret house guest; Arthur. Honestly, sometimes she had to wonder about his and Merlin’s sense, because she knew even though this was largely thought up by Arthur, that Merlin had some part to play in this fiasco. Sure, it might have been just trying to act as a restraining hand or guide for Arthur’s more extravagant schemes, but she knew that it was likely Merlin she had to thank (blame) for her own part in this idiocy.

At first she had somewhat admired the prince’s sentiments about wanting to see if he could win as an unknown participant instead of everyone just handing him the victory because he was who he was. Of course that admiration towards him and his nobleness had been somewhat tarnished when his actions did not match his words. Yes, he was competing as just another unknown knight to test his skills but the fact that he was pretending to be just another subject in the kingdom had done little to change his expectations on his accommodations and day to day life.

And since he could not pretend to be someone else while staying at the castle, these expectations had fallen to her to maintain….something she truly did not appreciate, no matter how handsome the arrogant ‘dollophead’—Merlin’s choice of insult, not her’s—was.

She sighed and resolutely pushed the last of her annoyance away, instead focusing on the mound of potatoes and leeks in front of her. Both of which she would need if she wanted to finish the soup she had started in time for dinner tonight. That was when she first caught sight of him.

Later on, after all came to pass, she would look back on this moment and realize that she wasn’t even sure what it was about him that had made her take notice in the first place. Sure he was rather attractive—in an odd, sort of mysterious way, and she had no doubt that he was not from these parts (given how he was staring around him with something akin to awe and wonderment) but there was nothing particularly _special_ about him.

There were plenty of attractive men roaming around (it was a tournament for knights after all), many of them foreigners—so both of those reasons did not necessarily excuse the way her eyes were drawn to his slight frame. Though maybe that was the reason, he did not look old enough to be competing in the tourney—perhaps fifteen or sixteen summers at most…and from what she could tell, he was most definitely alone.

While his clothes were that of a journeyman’s or perhaps a merchant’s*, he held a wariness in his frame that spoke of a much more violent and dangerous life. And for reasons Gwen had no knowledge of she found herself approaching the stranger.

“Excuse me” she said, offering a warm, disarming smile (she knew it was both because it worked on everyone—even the crabby old cook down in the kitchens), “are you looking for someone?” she added; because it was obvious that he was. Behind the apparent fascination he had for everything around him, his eyes were scanning the area far too often for him to be simply taking in everything. Plus given how he was dressed, it did not make sense that he was staring around the market like a common peasant who had never seen anything outside their own small village.

The boy startled slightly but was quick to cover his surprise and sent her a charming smile in return. And no, her heart rate did not pick up in the least—plus she already had enough ‘boy’ problems to last her a life time; what with Lancelot and now a completely irrational and impossible crush on the prince of all people (she might be annoyed as hell at him currently but that did not stop her traitorous mind from recalling just how his unfairly golden hair reflected the afternoon’s light). “Er…yes and no?” he answered sheepishly.

She was caught up in his accent for a moment—her proof that she had been correct in the assumption that he was not from around here…in fact she had never heard that kind of an accent before-- before she processed his words, causing her to quirk an eyebrow in question.

The boy sent her another smile, and she was struck by the fact that it seemed incredibly familiar—not that she was able to place it just now…but she could have sworn she had seen it or something resembling it recently….

“Well, I am rather new to the area. I am looking to find my estranged brother, but given I have no idea as to where to find him or even begin looking for him and I heard about the tournament, I decided Camelot was as good of place to start as any” the green eyed boy explained before offering a hand, “I’m Henry by the way, Henry Emrys.”

Again Gwen was hit by a feeling like she should know that name….shaking her head at her own oddity, she shook his hand and introduced herself back, “I’m Guinevere”—she held off on her last name because after all, Henry was still a stranger, despite how friendly and harmless he seemed.

“Pleasure to meet you Gwen” again with the familiar grin. Gwen shifted her half filled basket wondering what she should do next. After all, she still wasn’t even sure why she had stopped and introduced herself in the first place….she definitely did not have a plan for this.

“Do you have somewhere to stay?” she finally settled on, and again wasn’t sure why she asked. It wasn’t as though she could offer her own house—considering she was currently harboring the prince there.

“Er….not really, I just got here. I figured that I would find the local tavern or church and see if they had a spare room, though I suppose with the tourney…..” he trailed off as though the thought that all the available beds might already be booked had just occurred to him, shrugging he continued, “Well, worse comes to worse I can always just find a clearing outside of town and pitch my tent.”

Gwen felt rather horrible at the thought—from the looks of him, Henry could use a decent night’s sleep and a few good meals—he was nearly as thin as Merlin! Speaking of which, she spotted a familiar mop of dark hair and a flash of red (which she had learned to associate with her friend and his handkerchiefs) bobbing through the crowd.

“Merlin!” she shouted out, waving a hand to grab the clumsy servant’s attention, not noticing the start that Henry gave at the name.

The gawky manservant made his way towards them, just barely managing to avoid knocking into an overburdened woman carrying several dozen eggs on his way. He had a look on his face that Gwen had learned to dread—one that said the news he was bearing was anything but good.

“What?” she asked a tad loudly—completely forgetting that Henry was still present and watching them (well watching Merlin; but being distracted she didn’t see this), “What is it? Is Arthur okay? Did something happen?”

Merlin shook his head, wringing his hands in agitation as he stopped before her completely disregarding the third person present given his current agitation, “er….no, not exactly…well not yet” he stumbled in a typical Merlinesque way over his words.

Gwen found herself once again quirking her eyebrow in question, the action done only minutes prior reminding her that she was not alone—but she pushed it aside for the moment; it was obvious something had gotten her friend worked up, and generally the only things to get Merlin worked up concerned Arthur. Arthur, who was currently hiding in her house.

“….um well….it seems as though things might be a bit more complicated than we originally thought….” Merlin trailed off shifting again nervously.

At the look Gwen shot him he hastily continued, “well…it would seem that there is an assassin coming here to er….kill Arthur….or at least that is what one of King Odin’s men told Uther.”

Again neither of them noticed the slight widening, and panicked look on Henry’s face—which was once again gone in the flash of a second. Gwen scrunched her eyebrows up in concern, of course there was an assassin out to get Arthur—the prince could not avoid trouble for anything.

“Is….is he a sorcerer?” Gwen asked in a hushed voice. To anyone who had not lived in Camelot, this might seem like an odd question to ask but given the last few months and the number of magic wielders who had attempted to assassinate the prince it was actually a rather logical jump.

She chalked up the slightly pinched expression on Merlin’s face to the fact that he had, had several bad encounters with sorcerers since his arrival in Camelot. It was only to be expected that he wasn’t the most fond of them….of course there was no comparison to Uther’s hatred of ‘the unnatural,’ as the king called them.

What she hadn’t been expecting was for Henry to insert himself into the conversation, “er….sorcerers?” he asked somewhat hesitantly.

Both Gwen and Merlin’s focus zeroed in on him, to where he stood looking slightly confused (although he was still glancing at Merlin frequently). Gwen started, before she remembered that he wasn’t from around here and would likely not know about Camelot and its relationship (and history) with magic.

“Yes….given the King’s strict and unwavering laws against magic and magic wielders, his son and heir, Prince Arthur has been the target to several attacks and assassination attempts by sorcerers in revenge for the wrongs they perceive Uther has done them” Gwen answered doing her best to answer any questions he might have.

“Ban on magic?” Henry asked again looking a little concerned. Gwen for her part brushed it off as the surprise she had often witnessed from foreigners over such things. Apparently magic was actually rather wide spread outside Avalon.

“Yes, anyone with magic or caught practicing it is to be executed” Merlin explained in an uncharacteristically monotone voice.   

Henry seemed to pale slightly at this but that fact went unnoticed as Gwen turned her attention back to Merlin, “so?” she asked to her unanswered question.

“No….well at least they don’t think so….it shouldn’t matter since the prince is gone on his hunting trip….” Merlin stressed the word _gone_ , making Gwen want to roll her eyes. Subtly was not one of Merlin’s strong traits. “You’ll just have to take a few extra precautions with your house guest is all….” Merlin added sending Gwen one of his quirky grins.

It was then and there that Gwen made the connection—that she realized just why Henry’s grin seemed so familiar….like she had seen it before.

“Merlin….” she said swinging her stare back and forth between where he and Henry stood—yes, there was some resemblance now that she was looking for it….the dark hair, the slim frames, the rather vibrant eyes….

“Yeah?” Merlin replied waiting for her query.

“What’s your last name again?” Gwen asked, noting the way that Henry had his entire focus on the manservant and seemed to be holding his breath as he waited for Merlin to answer Gwen’s question.

Merlin looked at her in confusion, “Emrys….why?”

Gwen heard a whoosh of breath leave Henry at the answer, she turned to face the boy she had met only half an hour ago, “Well, Henry it looks like you’ve found your brother.”

\--oo—

Harry wasn’t exactly sure which of the two conflicting emotions that he was currently feeling should take priority. He had hoped that once his soul piece was joined with its missing half, that he would actually understand things like emotions and feelings. Apparently, his Myror half hadn’t been any more emotionally intelligent then his Harry half had been; because once again he was left confused and conflicted.

Part of him was dancing for joy over having actually found his half-brother (and really what was the chance of that happening? Apparently some of his old Potter luck had stuck with him), while the other part was a mix of terrified and annoyed. Annoyed, because said brother had all but up and vanished after Gwen made her not so tactful announcement, shooting Harry a hard to decipher look before making some terrible, mumbled excuse and all but running away.

Harry, having still been in mild shock had just watched him go….not quite believing that his only living link to family was running as fast as he could in the opposite direction of him; typical. Finally, he was feeling a tad terrified because he wanted this so badly that he wasn’t sure what he would do if it did not turn out in the end.

Once his brain had restarted he had wanted to go after Merlin to…..well, he wasn’t really sure but probably to at least explain why he had suddenly shown up out of the blue looking for the future all powerful wizard. As far as he could tell, Myror had never once looked into where his half brother and his half-brother’s mother had gotten to….while Harry was a little abhorred by this fact, in the end it did work in his favor (he wouldn’t have to worry about Merlin having met him when he had just been Myror, the psycho killer).

But just as he was about to race after the vanished teen, Gwen had stopped him…and looking back on it probably wisely so. At the time he had been rather irritated with her for having ‘outed’ him in such a manner but the sheepish, guilty expression she had worn had helped thaw his anger.

“Oh, Henry! I’m so sorry…I didn’t mean to say that out loud, I’m always running off my mouth….” She had started to ramble looking so contrite that Harry couldn’t help but comfort her.

“Gwen….GWEN!” he had shouted, when the first time failed to catch her attention, “Guinevere….it’s okay, really. It’s fine. I would have told him anyway…um do you know where he might have gone? I should go talk to him, explain….” Harry had trailed off looking worriedly in the direction that Merlin had gone off in.

Gwen shuffled awkwardly, looking rather conflicted, “listen Henry….I’m not sure if you should….” She trailed off but continued rather hurriedly at the face Harry gave her, “…I mean not now. I think that maybe you should wait a bit, give him some time to process it and come to you?” she suggested timidly, her eyes begging him to listen.

Every fiber of his being had wanted to disregard her words and go after Merlin in a Gryffindor like manner; and he likely would have had he still just consisted of his Harry half, but as he had said before he had changed slightly. Changed enough to know that what Gwen was saying was probably smart, that he did not know ‘Henry’s’ and Merlin’s entire history and that maybe--just maybe, he should go about this is a rational, rather than a rushed manner.

He wasn’t about to let it go entirely however and he had extracted a (rather reluctant) promise from Gwen that she would track down Merlin and have him come and meet Henry properly after the tournament was finished. Harry had wanted to meet him sooner but Gwen had convinced him that is would be wiser to wait until after all the hubris and stress associated with such a big event was over. Hence, why he was now pacing restlessly in the tiny boarding room that he had managed to procure (by some odd miracle he had found out that Myror had booked a room in Camelot just before he had been joined with Harry’s half; while Harry hated knowing just why Myror had booked the room, he was not above using it for his own purpose).

He tried to feel some of that initial interest and excitement over getting to witness the jousting event in said tournament, but mainly he just wanted it to be over. Over, so that he would finally get to meet his brother for real….to get a chance to know Merlin and for Merlin to get to know him, as he was now; not as Myror, or The boy who lived….just as himself, as Henry he suppose.

While at first he had been a little worried over Merlin’s quick departure he had, had time to talk himself out of his concerns. It only made sense that his brother might be a little shocked to meet him in such a manner; anyone would need a little while to come to terms with the fact that their long lost (he assumed) brother had shown up on their doorstep. So, he could be patient.

He would go to watch the event, go to see what Camelot had to offer. He needed to discover just what was up with this magical ban—and how was it possible that his brother; who in his past world had ended up being one of the most famous and revered wizards of all time-- was living here, pretending not to be a sorcerer (and why). That, and he needed to find this prince, just to make sure that the man was still alive and breathing—if only for his own peace of mind.

So, yes he had things that he could do to keep himself occupied (at least for a bit) until Merlin was ready to see him….

He just hoped that he wouldn’t be waiting in vain.

\--oo—

The most prominent feeling that Arthur was currently experiencing was relief….well that, and perhaps a small (ok, so large) amount of pride.

It was one thing to win fight after fight, challenge after challenge as Crowned Prince Arthur, and quite another thing to win as ‘unknown-unimportant fake knight’—not that anyone who had watched the jousting tournament was aware that the man who won was anyone but the ‘Sir William’ he claimed to be. It was a rather nice (and as he mentioned before appeasing) feeling to know that he had not just been getting by on the obligation of others, but that he actually had some skill to back up his position as Camelot’s most ‘fierce fighter.’

And yes, way back in the tiny part of his mind that he generally did his best to pretend did not exist, he recognized the fact that even a year ago he would likely not have cared either way. He refused however, to acknowledge the fact that his ‘friendship’—again not a word that he would admit to using—with Merlin maybe, just maybe, had humbled him somewhat…and perhaps that fact was not entirely a bad one. But once again, these were things he did his best to ignore.

And thankfully he was ignoring them more out of personal choice then having no choice, like the feelings and thoughts he was pretending were nonexistent in regards to Gwen. Because despite how much he wanted to think, experience and act on the small but growing attraction he felt towards Morgana’s maid, he knew that it was an impossibility.

Oh sure, he could do what many nobles, kings and princes who found themselves in his position might do, (aka: sleep with said indentured servant and then get on with things…like finding an appropriate spouse to serve as his betrothed) but unlike them (well, he was unlike them now) Arthur liked to think he had morals and honor. And those morals and honors demanded that if he could not properly court and woe Guinevere, that he had no business in lusting after her like a common scoundrel. Hence being forced to banish any feelings he had towards her--not that he was particularly successful in this endeavor but he was stubborn if anything. He would not let these horribly inappropriate feelings get the best of him; he was prince of Camelot after all (he may not have quite gotten over his pride after all….).

But ignoring his confusing emotions in regards to those of much lower social status then he, he was at this point in a rather good mood…one that could only be made better by poking fun at Merlin (his servant was ever so amusing when he was irritated). Which was why he was currently trying to locate his absentee man servant (something that was sadly not all that unusual; Merlin had an astonishing talent for vanishing just when Arthur was in need of him).

Now, he had known Merlin for the better part of a year and he had been fairly certain that he had a good grasp on his manservant’s character and traits. The Merlin he knew was; kind, clumsy, often idiotic and foolish but in his own way brave. Not on that list, was hotheaded, wrathful or cruel---which was why seeing his servant act in such a manner brought Arthur’s purposeful strides towards him to a grinding halt.

So shocked was he at seeing Merlin’s face flushed red in anger and his normally guileless blue eyes narrowed in a hateful glare, that Arthur more or less dismissed the person who was eliciting such a reaction from him (or the fact that Guinevere appeared to be hovering anxiously only a few feet away from the pair) far to shocked to turn away from the display of rage in front of him. He absently registered the fact that the boy in front of Merlin looked vaguely familiar….with a shock of dark, black messy hair, a slim-almost-petite figure and uncommonly green eyes. Green eyes which were turned pleadingly towards his angry servant.

“….please I just wanted to meet you” the boy pleads his green eyes desperate for Merlin’s….what? approval? Okay? Arthur isn’t sure but he felt a little uncomfortable over the desperation he saw in them….and not the usual type of unease that he would normally feel when he witnessed a peasant or accused sorcerer pleading with Uther for leniency. No, it’s all together different and he quickly placed it in the “not to think about or acknowledge’ category.

Merlin doesn’t seem swayed in the slightest by the boy’s words—which is rather odd if Arthur thinks about it, Merlin is ALWAYS swayed by other’s need, even the ones who are obviously just trying to garner his sympathy so that they can use Arthur’s foolish servant’s compassion against him. So, to see Merlin so cold and glacial….well, obviously the boy had done something truly terrible…. really, it’s the only explanation. And again there is an odd twinge in Arthur’s chest, if he didn’t know better he would say that it resembled grief…..but no, that made zero sense. Hmmm….apparently posing as a commoner had messed with his head more than he had thought….maybe Gaius had a remedy?

His attention is once again drawn back to his manservant, who by now was sporting a sneer—a sneer! An honest to god sneer! He didn’t even know that Merlin was capable of that expression—“Yes, well I did not want to meet you. I haven’t seen or heard anything about or from you in the last seventeen years…it hasn’t bothered me so far and that has not about to change”

Arthur registers a gasp, though he’s not sure if it came from the boy or Gwen, though he does see the teen flinch as though slapped, an expression resembling if not a kicked, then a thoroughly flogged puppy on his face.

“But…” the boy begins his voice faltering at the glare Merlin sends him before starting up again, “but…we are brothers….family” Arthur thinks he hears him say. But no, that can’t be! Arthur would have known if his manservant had family outside of Hunith….sure, he may not exactly spend a great deal of time talking to Merlin about well, Merlin, but surely he would have known something like that….right?

The look that his manservant sends the boy—no his brother? Is one of utter contempt and loathing, “I have never had a brother nor do I need one. Is that all you wanted?”

The green eyed boy stands there looking so utterly lost that Arthur almost goes over to him—to do what he’s not really sure-- not hug him surely, that is far to womanly for a manly man like Arthur--but to, to do something, but he stops himself at the last second. If what the boy says is true and he is indeed Merlin’s brother then this is a family matter. Arthur does not know the history between them or what has happened to make his servant so hostile, but he does know that Merlin is one of the kindest hearted people he knows and he would not act so cruelly without a good reason. No, he may be the Prince of Camelot but some things are not his business—plus, if he waits a bit he might be able to wheedle the information out of Merlin later…patience is a virtue after all.

“I-I…” Merlin’s brother stammers slightly before it seems that he accepts his defeat, his shoulders slumping, “…yeah, that was it” he says so quietly Arthur isn’t sure they were meant to hear him.

“Fine. You can find the way out” Merlin states shortly before spinning on his heels and marching resolutely back towards the town center, (completely ignoring the fact that his master is standing not a few feet away—the nerve!) leaving his brother staring after him dejectedly.

Arthur turns back to look at the boy, not really sure what he should do. He is assuming that when Merlin told the boy he could show himself the way out, that he was talking about Camelot as a whole and not just this particular street….he still feels like he should say some words of comfort, something to make that utterly heartbroken look on the teens face less intense but he’s never really been good with emotions or comforting people. Thankfully it seems as though Gwen’s stepped up to the challenge.

“Oh, Henry! I’m sorry….I don’t understand why he’s being like that, he’s usually such a sweetheart…” the maid said looking partly puzzled but another almost larger part, suspicious.

The boy—or Henry as Gwen called him seemed to shake himself from his daze enough to offer Gwen a slightly watery looking smile, “it’s fine Gwen…I-I’m fine” he coughed slightly opening up his side satchel and starting to dig around in it, “thank-you though…it—it was a long shot to begin with, but I had to try….” He looked again in the direction that Merlin had left in and sighed.

“Listen, I know he’s not likely to change his mind…but…well, if he does, could you give him this?” Henry asked handing Gwen something that Arthur couldn’t quite see—though he could have sworn it looked like a deerskin pouch.

“um..” Gwen seemed hesitant to take it, “I don’t know…”

“Please” Henry pleaded grasping one of her hands, “please…I-I just, please. It’s nothing harmful or anything it-well, it’s a way he can get a-hold of me if he ever changes his mind. Please he’s the only family I have left” he added the last bit softly, staring off into the distance instead of meeting her eyes as though ashamed of his neediness.

“I—okay” Gwen agreed, still a tad wary but a look of understanding shining in her brown eyes. “I will give it to him…but Henry” she paused a moment until he looked up at her, “Don’t—don’t get your hopes up okay? He can be very stubborn”

Henry shot her something closer to a genuine smile and nodded, “thank-you…really, for everything. It was a pleasure meeting you Guinevere” he gave her a crooked half grin before bowing to kiss her knuckles eliciting a giggle and a blush from Gwen.

Arthur was surprised to find himself turning away from the display with another strange twinge in his gut. One that he knew all to well; jealousy. Which shouldn’t have been all that surprising, considering his unacknowledged feelings over Gwen—the troubling part however, was that he wasn’t so sure that he was feeling it over Gwen.

Yes, he needed to see Gaius straight away….there was definitely something wrong with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *If you are interested in the social rankings and statuses in the middle ages I recommend checking out this website as it has an excellent explanation regarding titles and there meanings! www. lscacamp. org/ portals /0/medieval%20people. pdf (no spaces) 
> 
> Chapter title: taken from the children’s story titled, “The story of Ferdinand’. A story of a bull that does not want to fight.


	5. The Lost Kitten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgana and Gwen's journey meets with unexpected consquences. Harry meets someone new. and trouble continues to mount in Avalon....muhahahaha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter edited and reposted May 18/2015

* * *

 

_“Anyway, it doesn't matter how much, how often, or how closely you keep an eye on things because you can't control it. Sometimes things and people just go. Just like that.” ―_ [ _Cecelia Ahern_ ](http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7116.Cecelia_Ahern)

* * *

 

It had been several weeks since the tournament in which Arthur had proven himself to…well, himself, had ended, and yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing.

To be honest, Arthur had always felt like there was something missing-- as cliché as it might sound. For a long time, he had thought that it was because he had grown up as an only child (Morgana really didn’t count, as she was not actually his biological sister, nor sisterly in her affections) and without a mother figure. As he had gotten older, he eventually set such sentimental and childish notions aside—well, not entirely aside, but he had managed to place such feelings in the little locked portion of his brain, where he sent everything he did not feel like dealing with—he could only hope that said box did not have a capacity limit. Thankfully, he had enough self control that it was almost like such thoughts and emotions never existed in the first place.

Of course it helped that no one dared to bring up the late Queen, not to mention, Uther himself never mentioned her name. It was, after all much easier to forget about missing someone and to forget that they ever existed, if everyone around you did the same.

No, he had become convinced that the thing that he was missing was not his mother, but the chance to prove himself, to show that he was worthy of being successor to the throne….really, to make Uther proud. But again, he soon realized how childish and impossible both those notions were. Arthur knew from the time he was able to walk that it was a near impossible feat to make Uther proud of anything, and that the old man would cling to the throne until his last breath…. so proving himself was not something that needed to be done, as it would make little difference to Uther in the long run. At least that was how Arthur saw it.

His latest explanation for the hollow, empty feeling was that he didn’t need to prove himself to his kingdom, subjects or father, but to himself. It was largely why he had chosen to enter the jousting tournament as an unknown—he had thought once he had won it, that the feeling would finally go away. Yet, here he was, two weeks later and it was as present as ever….if anything, it felt like it had only grown since then. And he couldn’t explain why.

And while he tried to hide his melancholy mood, and he knew that he was doing a fairly decent job at it….it was still there.

Of course his own horrible mood was not helped in the least by the fact that his manservant was also demonstrating uncharacteristically low humors. While Merlin had not shown the same amount of anger, or let’s face it—hatred, since his encounter with the fey-looking boy, he had been surly and wapish since.

Even more frustrating was the fact that no amount of prying on Arthur’s part could get Merlin to say anything on the matter. And Arthur had tried—oh had he tried. He had tried coming at the topic surreptitiously at first, and when that failed, he tried to trick the information out of Merlin. Finally, met with nothing but unanswered questions, Arthur had asked about it point blank, only to be told to keep his royal ass out of it (Merlin’s words—Arthur knew he was not an ass, even of the royal variety).

So, in all fairness, he blamed at least part of his morose mood on his man-servant. Merlin knew how curious Arthur was….if Arthur didn’t know better he would have sworn that Merlin was keeping it a secret just to vex him! But he had saw his servant staring into space, his shoulders slumped, eyebrows furrowed like the fate of Camelot, if not the entire five kingdoms was resting on his shoulders, so he knew that whatever was involved with Henry, that it was not something that Merlin was keeping silent on just to be annoying. No, it was obvious that the issue was weighing rather heavily on the idiot.

And while Arthur did love to goad and tease Merlin mercilessly, he was not _actually_ cruel, (he just liked to pretend to be) so let his servant keep his secrets for the time being. Perhaps one day Merlin would trust him enough to confide in him. But until that day….

Arthur shook his head bringing his attention back to the present, where his father was finishing his speech on whatever it was that he had been talking about (Arthur couldn’t help it! his father had so many bloody speeches, about so many boring things, that he often found his attention slipping away when it shouldn’t. But he would challenge anyone!—anyone, to try and pay attention to these boring matters….it was impossible!)

“Well then, it is settled. I will send one squadron of men to guard you on your sojourn tomorrow” Uther finished looking to where Morgana stood, along with Gwen.

“Thank you, Milord. I do not think it should be necessary, but your worry for my safety honors me as always” Morgana replied sending Uther her best ‘I’m sweet and innocent’ smile, and a smirk towards Arthur.

Arthur grit his teeth and forced himself not to glare back at his father’s ward; Morgana was always trying to rankle him and she knew that he hated when she acted so innocent and sweet with Uther—she had always managed to get herself out of trouble with that smile, usually, while getting him into it. And what did she need a guard for anyway….? Oh, right! He had forgotten that she and Gwen were headed off to her father’s grave tomorrow so that she might pay her respects.

For this reason, more than anything else, he kept his annoyance in check. For while they had always been adversaries, (friendly—well, usually friendly ones), he truly did feel sorry for her loss of her father. He may not like his father most of the time, but he did love Uther and he knew should someone kill him Arthur would have been heartbroken. It was why he did not protest her journey through bandit infested woods to visit her father’s grave—despite what his gut was telling him.

He would have insisted on accompanying them (and not just because Gwen was going with Morgana), but he unfortunately knew his father would say no. Arthur had other duties to attend to tomorrow—some of which included the assessment of several young nobles who wished to become knights of Camelot….so no, there was no way Uther would allow Arthur to go along with the girls.

Plus he was being ridiculous…acting like Merlin with his worrying. They would be fine; they had some of his father’s best men going with them to ensure so.

….Still, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something was going to go horribly wrong.

\--00—

Kendrick lay still and silent on the wet overgrowth of the quickly lightening forest floor, he ignored how cold and numb the portion of his body that was in contact with the wet moss and leaves was…after all, this was not his first ‘stakeout,’ though if everything went to plan, it would be his last.

No, matter what he told his men and any unfortunate enough soul to encounter him when he was drinking in the tavern and in the mood to tell stories, (unfortunate, because said soul generally ended up dead by the end of the night—no point in having a wagging mouth to get him into trouble, and one could never be too sure what they spilt when drunk. Better safe than sorry; his mother taught him that much, if nothing else) he did not truly _want_ the life of a bandit. Oh no, sure he would take it over being a piss-poor farm hand, but given the choice he wouldn’t have said no to having been a lord in this life; rich off the back of others…yeah, that sounded like the life. But alas, apparently the fates had not made it so, so he had been forced to do the next best thing…steal, barter and swindle himself rich.

And sure, it hadn’t exactly turned out as profitable as he had thought it would (apparently, there were far more bandits then wealthy targets these days) but if this next grab went off right, then he could hang up his boots so to speak. Yes, this next target was more than just a wealthy one; this target was actually a someone….a someone, who was apparently very dear to the king. And to think he’d gotten the information from one of those poor souls of his.

Turns out, one of the knights being sent to guard the Lady Morgana and her maid, had one of those so feared wagging tongues, and after a few tankards of mead, Sir Beves just couldn’t stop himself from bragging the fact that he—he, a fairly new knight, had been selected to accompany his King’s ward to visit her dead father’s grave. Oh, it had been easy enough to get the when, where and guard numbers from the fool before slipping him a compound of Hebane* (something that Deon had taken to carrying with him ever since that run in with that one wench’s husband….it was simply easier to slip the powdered root to his conquests and have them forget all about their night, then to deal with angry spouses or lovers the next day) and making haste to round up the appropriate numbers to pull off this ambush. He would have simply slit the idiot’s throat, but he couldn’t risk the king changing plans if one of the knights chosen didn’t report in for duty the next day—this was easier, plus he would be dead soon enough.  

After what seemed like hours, (and likely was) Kendrick was rousted from his gleeful plotting by the clacking of horse hoofs. Plotting on what exactly he was going to spend his ill gotten goods on once he delivered the Lady Morgana to Hengist; not that Kendrick was exactly happy with this bit (as he had hoped to sell her to the highest bidder) but unfortunately one of Hengist’s men had been in the tavern and had told the cruel-hearted war Lord the same information that Kendrick had managed to get. Really, he was lucky that the King had decided having Kendrick snatch the king’s ward rather than one of his own men was a good idea. That, and the fact that King Hengist had still agreed to pay him handsomely for the delivery….not that Kendrick exactly trusted the man, but it wasn’t as though he had a lot of choices; and life with some riches, was better than death with more.

He gave a quick quiet whistle that could easily have been mistaken for that of a bird’s to alert the rest of his men (well, men that had agreed to work with him for this job anyway). He would have to find some way to dispose of them quickly and quietly once this was all over with and he had his money….leaving them alive would just be asking for trouble in the future (aka: blackmail).

As they moved silently into position, he could not shake the sudden feeling of foreboding that stole over him…

He shook his head trying to concentrate on the ambush that would take place mere seconds from now, angry at himself. He was being a superstitious fool again, finding cause and effect, where there was none. He had been doing so for weeks…. one of the reasons that he had decided he needed to get out of this life and chance making this final large grab, was so that he would not have to travel these woods any longer. There was something, well…. _evil_ about these woods; a sense of such darkness that it chilled even a cold hearted killer like Kendrick to his very bones. And that feeling of wrongness had only grown in the last few weeks.

He had heard rumors and stories from some of the men he was working with, rumors of how whole parties vanished without a trace, men—men who had survived years as fugitives and outlaws, were suddenly turning up in Camelot to turn themselves in, begging to be taken to the dungeons, to the gallows…anywhere, but back to the forest. He had tried to brush off the stories as the overactive imaginations and boredom of fellow criminals—really, it would make more sense that these criminals were hoping to scare their competition from the woods then there being some mystical evil presence lurking within them. But somehow, no matter what he told himself, Kendrick knew that the stories were not lies….that the one area of the forest that they had never noticed before, had suddenly become a place to avoid at all costs—something that had occurred within the last few weeks…..

Yes, they needed to succeed in this; kidnap the Lady, kill the unneeded, and get paid. It was the only option for him now. Because Kendrick somehow knew, deep down, that if he did not get out of this life soon, that it wouldn’t last a whole lot longer.

\--00--

It happened so quickly that she didn’t even have time to think her reaction through.

One minute she had been riding, her thoughts stuck on the one person who had seemed to occupy them as of late, all while pretending otherwise by chatting with Gwen. Her thoughts had been coming back to said person ever since her fraught filled trip to see the druids….someone, who until that time she had only seen as her adopted brother’s unskilled servant…and perhaps even a friend of sorts, but who now…..

No, it was these thoughts that would put her in even more danger then she already was in—for being Uther’s ward was not exactly the safest of positions, especially given his hatred of magic and her happening to be oh you know; magical. Obsessing over a mere serving boy (no matter what kindness he had shown her without any reason to do so) would bring nothing but pain and sorrow; it was best that she set such thoughts aside….but try as she might….

The thing was her obsession was not so much the obsession of a heart-sick little girl, but one of need. She _needed_ to figure out Merlin, to know what made him tick, to figure out what it was that he hid….from her, even from Arthur, it would seem. She had no question as to his loyalty and love for her brother, but at the same time she could tell that the Merlin she saw every day in court--- bantering and teasing the prince, was not the whole—or even the true, Merlin. Maybe that was why she suddenly felt so drawn to him….he was like her, living only half a life; half a truth.

Her thoughts and her concentration on such thoughts, was likely the reason that she had not realized the ambush that came upon them, until it was too late. She wanted to think that had she been less distracted, that she would have sensed something amiss—either through her magic or her keenly honed hunting skills (Arthur had allowed her to sneak off with him a time or two when they were young to hunt—something, that to her brother’s** surprise, she turned out to be very good at). But unfortunately for her, and the rest of her party, she did not sense them at all…in fact it was Sir Robert’s startled yell for her and Gwen to follow him, that woke her to their presence.

Knowing that this was not the time to show her preference for fighting verses fleeing like the helpless maiden’s that all the knights and bandits took her and Gwen to be, (for she might be better with a sword than most thought, but she was not stupid enough to think that she could win a fight that many of the far more skilled and better trained knights were losing) she did as instructed, only to watch Sir Robert fall to an arrow in the back and to be violently yanked from her horse. Both her and her servant managed to escape their captor’s hold, and then they were once again fleeing…desperate to put some space between them and the men who slaughtered the last of the knights without thought.

Alas, they’re flight away from the fighting group was in vain as they discovered that they had run right towards the very man who had initiated the attack to begin with. A few angrily spoken sentences later, Morgana knew what she must do if they hoped to escape with their lives…

She may have been Uther’s very protected ward, but she was not stupid nor naïve; she knew what happened to young women in her position…or even worse, Gwen’s. They might keep her alive and unharmed for long enough to secure a ransom from Uther but they would have no qualms on doing the same for a serving girl….and she knew that when it came to these kind of things, death was really the least evil they could expect.

It was with this knowledge that Morgana convinced Gwen to aid her in her hastily thought up escape plan, and yes, perhaps it was not overly cunning or clever. Perhaps there was a very large margin for error, but it was their only hope.

**_(Following dialogue taken from Merlin, Season 2; episode 4: Guinevere and Lancelot)_ **

Morgana glared at Kendrick (apparently the bastard who had orchestrated this entire thing), mentally thinking of all the ways that she could kill him—well, kill him _after_ she made him suffer incomprehensible horrors that is….the look that he and his goons were giving her as she played with the outer ties on her dress, were only fueling such thoughts. But no, now was not the time to take revenge on these pitiful men, she had to believe that such things as karma existed and that it would eventually lead such unmoral men to their demise but for now, it was better that she concentrate on getting both her and Gwen away from here; so she would stick to her plan. Even if said plan did involve her stripping (well partially) in front of such swine.

She had to force herself not to roll her eyes at Kendrick’s pathetic comment about the temperature of the water (really, and the man thought he was clever? Even Arthur could come up with better quips then this idiot!). Instead she forged ahead with her plan, putting more effort into pretending that she was a frightened but haughty (if perhaps a little stupid, because what princess would insist on bathing; an activity that would involve less clothes, when captured by horny bandits?) princess.

“I'm sure I'll manage. If you were any kind of gentleman, you'd give me some privacy.” She stated disdain dripping from her mouth, with a glare to match. Kendrick smirked, not moving his eyes even an inch from where they were resting on her still covered chest, “Well, unfortunately for you, I am no kind of gentleman. Now get on with it.” She could hear the raucous laughs and snickers from the idiot’s other men, but didn’t let it deter her. She would succeed in this.

Slowly removing her outer gown, in a way that would draw as much of the men’s attention towards her and away from her servant, she saw that she was at least partially successful, as one of the thugs let go of Guinevere and took a step towards her. Morgana decided to go one step further and protest yet again, “You can at least turn your backs.” Apparently Kendrick wasn’t as entirely stupid as he seemed, for he snorted in disbelief, “So you can make a run for it. Do you think I'm that stupid?”—again the key word was e _ntirely_ and Morgana didn’t bother to hide her triumphant smirk as her plan fell into place. “I think you're very stupid” was her next line, and yes, it might have been a little cliché or expected but hey, she was a little too distracted with carrying out the next few steps successfully, to bother with wasting time to think up a clever retort. Gwen-- bless her, did exactly as she had been instructed and lunged forward, quickly pulling Kendrick’s sword from its sheath, while Morgana delivered a hit to the face.

A toss of the sword from her maid to her, a few painful (well, to the men who received them) slashes later and they were once again running for their lives. Tree roots seemed to appear out of nowhere, tripping and slowing their progress, as brambles and branches latched on to their long gowns (not for the first time Morgana cursed the dress that Uther insisted was appropriate for a young lady, made of far too long of lace and silk to allow for a speedy get away). Well, at least she had ditched the outer part of her embroidered shackle. Unfortunately it seemed as though it was not enough, as she felt her ankle catch on one of the cruel roots and felt her body lurch towards the hard ground. With a pained cry, she knew that the snap she had heard was not a stray branch or stick in her path, but her ankle.

At hearing the cry, Gwen stopped her own flight to rush back to Morgana’s crouched form, “My lady! Morgana….please we must run, they are closing in on us!”

Morgana winced as Gwen pulled her to her feet but she knew that Gwen was right, even now she could hear the sounds of their pursuers closing in on them. Determinedly she placed weight on her injured ankle, only to have it give out once more—and she knew in that moment that she was done for. There had been a slim enough chance of her and Gwen escaping when they were in perfect health, but with her lame….

Well, perhaps Gwen still had a chance. Maybe she could return and tell Uther and the court what had befallen Morgana and the rest of the party, to bring help….

“Go!” she cried out, pushing Gwen away from her.

“But, my lady….” Gwen started to protest, only to be pushed by Morgana again.

“No, you must run Guinevere. Get away from here, back to Camelot and let them know what has happened to us….go get help. I cannot escape with my ankle like this, you are my only chance. So, please for me….run!”

Gwen gave her one more reluctant stare, but it seemed as though she saw the truth in Morgana’s words as she gave a terse nod, “Hold on my Lady I will be back for you,” before letting go and fleeing deeper into the woods.

Morgana drew in a shaky breath, hoping that it would not be the last time she saw her maid…hoping that she had made the right decision. She forced herself to stand-up again and move away from where she knew Kendrick was coming from. She would be damned if she would wait here, helpless and alone for her own capture…she knew that she had little hope in escaping them, but it didn’t mean that she wasn’t going to try.

As she ran (limped) in the direction that Gwen had gone in, she felt the air change. It had been a rather nice and sunny day out when they had first departed and even while riding through the dense forest some of that sunshine had managed to filter through, lighting up the dark woods around them. Now however, she realized that this was no longer so….there was a chill to the air that didn’t feel entirely natural. She fought a shudder that ran down her spine as she forged ahead, keen on getting as far away from the bandits as she could.

The natural light in the forest seemed to be almost non-existent the further she ventured, until she could hardly make out the ground ahead of her. It was because of this, that she once again found herself losing her footing.

Only this time it was not the forest floor that met her, but that of empty air. --00--

When Harry woke that morning, he had not known that the events of the coming day, would lead to changes in his life that even he; who had lived through so many life altering, destiny defying events, would ever have guessed. Nor could he have known the consequences of said changes.

It had been more or less two weeks since he had come to the horrifying realization that his blood relative’s hatred of him had followed him from his past world into this one. At first he had been far too heartbroken and disappointed to see the irony and sick humor of the situation, but given time and distance, he could-if not appreciate, then resentfully admire, sister fate’s tenacity to fuck with his life. Of course two weeks and a few dozen miles was not nearly far, nor long enough to really ease any of the hurt that had been administered by his half brother’s angry glares and sharp words…but it was however, enough for him to at least pretend that they did not affect him as much as they did.

Of course, his own actions since then displayed the fallacy of such sentiments….if he truly had not cared that Merlin had all but disowned him without giving him a chance, he would have moved on, travelled beyond the forest surrounding Camelot and have begun to make the new life he had thought he had wanted. But he had not….and really, he couldn’t even say why that was.

When Merlin had first told him to leave, Harry had every intention of heeding his brother’s words and getting as far away from the distain (Merlin) and pity (Gwen) that was being thrown his way. However, when he actually began his trip back through the densely treed forest, heading who knows where, he found himself unable to continue on. Not physically of course—but something—an ancient instinct; his magic (honestly, he wasn’t even really sure what it was) made him feel as though leaving the area, truly leaving, would be a mistake. And Harry having been a child of magic and a great believer in following one’s intuition, had listened to said feeling, shoring up camp a mere dozen miles from the city under the overhang of a steep—almost unnatural—drop off.

While common sense might have asserted that setting up camp in basically a basin of green was not the best defensive decision, (a higher perch, so that he could keep an eye out for trespassers and bandits would have been smarter) his instincts once again drew him to the area-- as though there was a soothing, ancient power running through it. (In a lot of ways it reminded him of the same power that Hogwarts gave off: one of ancient knowing and strength).

Not to mention, that he had erected every anti-muggle ward he could think of around his camp—including a few that were closer to being dark then many of his old brethren would probably have approved of (one of which had always guarded Grimmauld place, making the trespasser or those who drew near the encampment feel a sense of great wrong or fear…turning into hallucinations the closer they got. It was surprisingly effective in deterring bandits from entering the area—superstitious lot they were). So no, it wasn’t as though Harry had to worry too much about his solitude being disturbed, as he highly doubted that outside of his half brother, that there were very many true people of magic left in Camelot who would have been able to get through the wards (he imagined that Uther’s hatred of magic had insured that much).  

Which led to his second problem—ironically enough; that there was no one to disturb his solitude, which essentially meant that he was left alone, day after day, night after night, with his brooding thoughts (something that was not a good thing, as his head—especially now that it contained both his own past and Myror’s, was not the happiest of places). Really, it was a catch twenty-two; he wanted and needed to be alone, as much as he feared and hated the loneliness that came from being so. Yes, he was just that messed up.

The thing was, that while he had always believed in following his instincts and listening to what essentially Mother magic was telling him—nothing had happened to tell him that he had interpreted that feeling correctly. He had after all, been here for two weeks with absolutely nothing happening. He didn’t know what he was waiting for, or even if he were to say hell with it, what he was supposed to do instead. All of his plans for this world had started and revolved around his brother….which despite the fact that he had given Gwen a centering stone for Merlin, he doubted his half brother would ever use.

The centering stone had been result of the collaboration between Hermione and Luna of all people. They had been partnered together in their Arithmancy class (one that Harry had entered into late in his fourth year after wanting to get as far away from Trelawney and her divination bullshit as possible) and for their yearend project, the girls had enchanted a few dozen pebbles to essentially act as a honing beacon. The user would push a small amount of their own magic into the stone, causing it to activate and the receiver (or person given the stone) would then instinctively know where to find said person when they truly desired it.

It was actually a rather simple, yet fascinating piece of magic, as the stone could not be stolen or used by someone who it was not intended for, nor could it be used if the receiver had ill intent towards the person the stone sought. And while Merlin would have no idea what the stone was actually for should he ever want to find Harry, while the stone was in his possession, his own magic would lead him to the wizard (the one down side of the stone was that if could not be used by those without magic).

Sadly, despite the genius of the pebbles, Harry had a feeling that the one he gave Merlin would be essentially useless, as his brother would have to actually want to see or find him again. And as much as Harry wished that would someday be true, he was not a naïve idiot.

Sighing softly to himself as he puttered around his rather barren camp (he had supplemented his puny amount of supplies with a few items that wayward bandits had dropped in their terror to flee the area—so his camp now included a shoddily built shelter of sorts, a few pots and pans, a decent bed roll and few blankets, as well as several herbs and black market ingredients; the last which he had put to good use making up various potions—from healing balms to some lesser known poisons) trying to reach a decision that had been weighing down on him these last few days.

While he had listened to his gut feeling and set up here, he was growing bored and restless…he knew that he would need to move on soon; if not to figure out his new life, then to at least stop himself from succumbing to the monotony of his current one. He just had to figure out where it was that he was supposed to go now.

He should probably head out of Camelot and the lands ruled by Uther, as he still hoped to find a sorcerer or someone knowledgeable in magic to help him figure out just what was going on with him. He still suffered from horrible nightmares and visions that he had come to recognize as Myror’s memories and desires, as well as waking up in places that he had no memory of travelling to. Large gaps of time seemed to essentially disappear…scarily enough it reminded him of how Ginny described her own experience of being possessed by Tom Riddle. The very thought that he was not entirely in control of this body and its action was truly a terrifying one.

Of course he had done his best to convince himself that it was not so--that it was simply his body adjusting to having two separate soul halves suddenly forced together once more. However, as more and more time passed and the memories and periods of unknown did not diminish, Harry was slowly being forced to acknowledge that there might be more to this then simply a period of readjustment.

The only thing that was really holding him here now, was the realization that he had never checked in on the wayward prince—too distracted with first the excitement of finding his brother, and then by the disappointment of being rejected by him. He knew that Prince Arthur was most likely fine, that the people around him were aware of the potential threat of assassination now, and that there was little that Harry could add or do to change said threat (even if the people aware seemed so negligent that they had never even suspected Harry of possibly being the hired assassin, despite him being a literal stranger showing up in their city—he wasn’t sure whether he was glad for their oversight or insulted). But once again there was a feeling that he really should, no, that he _needed_ to see the prince and make sure that he was okay.

And once again, it made no sense.  

A sudden desperate cry interrupted his thoughts, causing him to knock over the potion he had been brewing (a brew that caused whatever was soaked in it to become impenetrable to steel and flint—kind of perfect for the clothing of someone travelling in these times—times, where sword and arrow were more often than not, the cause of death). He didn’t even have time to pinpoint the source of the noise before there was a soft thud, followed by the sound of a pained gasp.

Harry froze, his gaze stalled on the sight of a crumpled body lying motionless in the outer area of his camp. It was clear that the body (a woman’s, given the dress and from what he could see, long raven locks) had somehow managed to get through his wards and fall over the steep overhang that overlooked his camp. Ignoring for now that this should have been impossible (unless she was magical…which as he had said before was doubtful what with Uther around) he rushed over to where she now lay, still as death.

When he reached her, he carefully turned her onto her back and gently moved disheveled strands of hair off of her face, surprised to find that outside of a superficial cut on her head, and a rather swollen ankle, she appeared unharmed. Well unharmed besides the fact that she was currently unconscious, that is.

Not knowing what else to do, he carefully picked her up and carried her over to where his bed roll was, setting her down to go and locate his healing potions and perhaps a few pungent herbs to wake the girl up with. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of the intrusion, it was obvious from her missing outer garment, and her injuries—superficial as they were—that something had happened to the young woman. And he was nothing if not a gentlemen.

He could tell by the finery of even her under dress and the bracelet that she wore, that she came from means….definitely not a peasant or serving girl. He could not think of a reason why a noblewoman should find herself out in this area of the woods, but decided that it did not matter for the time being. He would have helped her, servant or queen.

As he slowly cleaned the blood from her forehead he could not shake the feeling of familiarity…like she was kin, or at least someone he should know. It felt as though she was important—that she would somehow play a great role in his future….

Harry shook his head bemused and a little annoyed with himself and his absurd thoughts. Why should one girl, noble or not, have any effect on him? He would clean her up and send her back to safety and that would be that. This was simply a small flicker in his eventually path….something that he would likely forget about in a few days; nothing more, certainly nothing life changing.

He didn’t realize just how wrong he was.

\--00—

Back and forth, back and forth, back and….okay she needed to calm down. Pacing relentlessly before the courtyard orientated window in Morgana’s room, was not beneficial to anyone. It would not ensure that Arthur came back safe and sound.

Because that was what had Gwen pacing like one of the much avoided mentally afflicted peasants that her mother (when she was alive) had warned her about; worry about the crowned prince. That’s not to say that she wasn’t also worried about her mistress, Lady Morgana—for she was, truly she was….but once again—much to her irritation and resentment—Arthur seemed to trump all else in her mind.

Sadly, it had been this way even before she had come to realize her feelings for the prince (which happened almost directly after he won the tournament a few weeks ago), knowing what she did now, she realized that she had probably always harbored somewhat of a crush on the man… she just hadn’t recognized that fact until rather recently. She had thought that the way her heart rate picked up and her palms grew damp when she was around him was simply a sign that she was nervous because of how much higher his station was above her own…really, looking back on it, it was a rather lame excuse considering the same did not occur when she was in Lady Morgana’s presence, despite her elevated status. Unfortunately (or fortunately—she was still undecided on this point) seeing him win the tournament and then be humble enough to let another man (the man posing as Sir William in public) take the credit, had removed the blinders from her willfully ignorant eyes. And as much as she tried to fight it and convince herself that it was both hopeless and pointless to pine after a prince when she was but a serving girl, her heart would not listen to reason.

It was why she could not tear herself away from the window of Morgana’s empty chambers. A part of her, one that she was doing the best to smother, was feeling horribly guilty over her worry. Not over the fact that she worried, no…but the fact that she was much more worried about the prince who had left two days ago with a group of knights to go and search for the missing Morgana, then she was about the missing lady herself. It truly made her a horrible person considering Morgana had—perhaps not sacrificed herself for Gwen, but had allowed her a chance to escape what would not doubt have been a terrible fate.

And she _was_ worried for her friend…it was just that she couldn’t really spare the extra worry for Morgana, when it was all being used up by Arthur.

They had not ridden that far before they were attacked….perhaps 10-15 miles** at most, and she was pretty certain that they had not travelled a huge distance to where the bandits camp was located; it should not have taken Arthur and his men more than half a day’s ride at most to reach where she had last seen Morgana. Even if the bandits had managed to recapture her mistress and chose to ride on towards wherever they had been originally planning on taking the girls, (she had heard one of them mention the name Heingst—which when she told King Uther that fact, had caused the king to pale to the color of freshly bleached linen) Arthur should have returned by now; or at the very least sent word.

What if they too had been ambushed but instead of being taken hostage, had been killed outright? Or were lying injured somewhere, or had been attacked by an evil sorcerer? (the last was really not that much of a leap considering the number of evil magic wielders with grudges against the king and his family)—not to mention, they never had found the hired assassin that was supposed to have been sent by King Odin to kill the prince. The anxiety that had been knawing at her since she last saw Arthur ride out tripled at this thought.

She found her head jerking up and her eyes flying to the window once more when she heard the clattering of horse hooves. She almost let out a sob of relief when she recognized the golden head of hair that could belong to no one but the prince himself. It took her a minute to catch her breath from the sheer relief at seeing him return alive and well, before she once again scanned the group that had returned—hoping against hope that there would be two causes to celebrate.

She felt her heart plunge, and the guilt that she had been suppressing come back full force—there was no sign of Lady Morgana….it could only mean that they hadn’t found her. What that meant for the king’s ward, Gwen was afraid to even ponder.

Deciding that she needed to hear for herself what had taken the group so long to return and to find out if they had discovered anything--anything at all about Morgana’s whereabouts, she quickly used the servant’s entrance to Morgana’s chambers and descended at a rapid pace.

It was a great source of amusement (and perhaps annoyance) to her, how the nobles and knights of the court thought they knew everything in regards to Camelot and her castle….when in truth, they knew very little. It was the servants who truly knew the citadel inside and out; all the hidden hallways and exits, the secret alcoves and hideouts—really, if Uther was smart he would have put one of the kitchen boys or chamber maids in charge of defensive strategy; well, at least in regards to the King’s home.

But alas, as far as Uther was concerned, servants and peasants were far too stupid to have anything to offer their higher ups (outside of cleaning their clothes, cooking their food, tidying their chambers etc), or to even pose a threat. It was with this knowledge that Gwen found herself crouched behind one of the tapestries (one of the many that connected with one of the servant hallways) overlooking the throne room, while listening carefully to what was being said.

“Did you find her?!” the king demanded, even though it was rather obvious that the group had not… considering the ladies absence.

“No, father we did not. It’s like she simply vanished….we searched everywhere for her and there was no trace” Arthur stated worry and guilt weighing down his voice.

“What do you mean?” Uther once again questioned his tone harsh and disbelieving, “one cannot simply vanish Arthur!”

“We tracked the bandit’s down and arrested them sire, she was not with them and after being questioned extensively” –Gwen shuddered at this, she knew what he meant by being questioned extensively and while she felt no pity for the men, she couldn’t stop her stomach from turning slightly at the thought—“and they last saw her fleeing from them. Apparently she was running and suddenly she was just gone….” Arthur trailed off.

There was a heavy silence in the air and Gwen just knew what Uther’s next words were going to be—of course she was not disappointed.

“Sorcery?!” Uther questioned, though you could tell from the tone of his voice that it was really not a question.

She heard Arthur sigh, and imagined that he would be running a stressed hand through his hair by now, “Perhaps…I have no other explanation. But there was no one in the vicinity….not even a sign that there ever was….her trail just….well, vanishes”

Gwen flinched at the sound of something hitting stone, most likely something that the king had thrown to show his displeasure and frustration, “Well go back and find her then! Take as many men as you need Arthur…this sorcerer, whoever it may be, must be caught. I will not lose her….”

“Of course father…” Arthur answered immediately and Gwen listened to the sound of retreating footsteps and a closing door.

She, herself, quickly scampered back into the hidden hallway and made her way down towards the kitchens (where she had been assigned until Morgana came back). This was not good.

From the sound of Arthur’s parting statement, he was only going to humor his father; his voice had made it sound as though he truly did not believe that they would find the king’s ward. Gwen tried to ignore the swell of guilt that once again hit her, at how much she wished that Arthur would not go back out into the forest where there was a possible all powerful sorcerer lying in wait. How, deep down in a dark part of her, she wished that they would just give up their search.

She wanted Morgana back as much as the next person, but not at the price of the prince’s safety. That and she could not help but agree with Arthur’s sentiments….she doubted that even if they searched for the next month that they would find any trace of Morgana.

No matter how much the King wished it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story title: taken from verse in the children’s story; The Lost kitten 
> 
> *Henbane is a flower which is thought to make the consumer forgetful. In Greek mythology, the dead who wander the shores of the River Styx are crowned with henbane, most likely because of its real life ability to make one forget oneself. Greek oracles were said to breathe the smoke of this baneful Saturn herb in order to divine the future. Logically enough, it is sacred to Hekate. It was used ritually in ancient Scotland, apparently in connection with honoring the dead, as it was found in a Neolithic funerary site. There is some argument that its remnants there represent a henbane beer that was either given to the dead to ease them on their path or that was drunk by the mourners (retrieved fromhttp://www.alchemy-works.com/hyoscyamus_niger.html)
> 
> **I am having Morgana call Arthur her ‘brother’ not because she is aware that technically they are brother-sister, but simply because she grew up a ward of Uther’s and sees Arthur as a brother figure. 
> 
> ***I am having them measure distance in miles simply because it is easiest. I did try and find what measures of distance they used in the late 5th-early 6th century (time when King Arthur is believed to have reigned although this fact is widely speculated and not certain) but drew a blank. So decided to just use what I wanted. Sorry, if it is in fact incorrect ;)


	6. Leave them alone, and they’ll come home

* * *

 

 

_“I’ve noticed that sometimes when we aren’t actively searching for something, what we seek, finds us.” ―_ [ _Darryl Webb_ ](http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8384132.Darryl_Webb)

* * *

 

“ _Merlin”_

Merlin flipped over on the lumpy and ever so thin mattress beneath him, pulling his pillow over his head in a pointless attempt to ignore the annoying voice that summoned him.

“ _Merlin_ ”

Nope. Cannot. Hear. It.

_“Merlin”_

Merlin sat up, abruptly throwing his pillow at the door in a fit of annoyance before sighing in resignation and slowly turning so that his feet met the night chilled floor. He didn’t know why he bothered trying to ignore the damn dragon….it never did any good. Sadly, the fact that it was a dragon and had lived for oh-who-knows-how-many-bleeping-centuries, and had therefore developed both an incredible stubborn streak and amount of perseverance meant that no matter how long Merlin tried to outwait or ignore the damn thing, he always ended up being the one to give in, in the end.

Not that Merlin didn’t try to hold out—especially now that he had definite reasons to mistrust and begrudge the giant lizard—what with its tricking Merlin into almost sacrificing his mother’s life without telling him that was possible and everything—not that he was ever successful. And yes, perhaps they were on slightly better terms then they had been right after it had happened…but they were still a hell of a long ways away from trusting each other again.

Merlin made his way stealthy past where Gaius was snoring merrily away—ok, so maybe stealthy in Merlin’s definition of the word meant that he only knocked into something once as opposed to multiple times on his way to sneak out the door. Of course the racket didn’t wake Gaius, and while this was at the moment a good thing considering Merlin was trying to get out of the physician’s chambers unheard, it was also a little worrying. Merlin had noticed how tired Gaius had seemed ever since their trip to the Isle of the Blessed months back. The elderly court physician tried to hide the fact, and he even did a fair job at it but he couldn’t fool Merlin. It was particularly tricky to deceive Merlin, who not only had magic to help him know such things but saw Gaius as both his mentor and the father he had never had and what he saw, worried him.

Realistically he knew that Gaius was getting up there in years and that life had been neither easy or particularly kind to the man, but until he noted how Gaius grimaced whenever he was bent over a potion or concoction, or how the man more often than not now sent Merlin to distribute his remedies and even do some of his check-ups and house calls in the outer areas of town, Merlin had never really considered that some day—and it was looking like it was not all that far off—that the man he had come to see as a father would not always be around. It pained him in a way he had never thought it would.

And he could admit that perhaps his worry over Gaius had in a way played a part on how he had received his half brother. Merlin had never thought of himself as a particularly angry or hateful person, but seeing a brother (half though he may be) who he had not laid eyes on since the time Merlin was four years old and Henry was a mere babe had awoken that suppressed rage in him. Oh he knew that he was being incredibly unfair to his brother—after all it was not Henry’s fault that their father had been a right bastard with a hatred of magic to rival Uther’s. It was not the boys fault that Balinor* had decided to cheat on his mother with another woman and father a second son, a son that he decided would be better off away from the taint of his magical half-sibling. It was not really Henry’s fault that Balinor had decided to love his second son more than his first and abandon his family to poverty and a life of hardship….no, truly it wasn’t. But Merlin could not help how he felt….how the very sight of the green eyed teen brought back the feeling of intense betrayal, unworthiness and self loathing that Merlin had thought he was past.

When he was younger his mother had made up fanciful stories of where is father was, how he had been forced to leave them for their own protection, or how he was a knight and was killed honorably. Oh how Merlin had admired the man she painted…only to find out later from a hateful village bully that the stories were just that; stories.

That his father had left to live with his better family, his more worthy son….the one that was not so freaky or abnormal. The admiration and longing had turned to anger and hate not long after; it had only grown every time he saw one of the villagers cast a disdain-filled or pitying look at Hunith, or every meal that his mother went without so that he might eat that night. When he was still in school he had toyed with the idea of hunting his father down and confronting him, demanding that he at least give a few coins to his struggling mother—but he had never done it. In truth he was afraid that should he find the man that he might be angry enough to kill him.

And while Merlin couldn’t deny that the thought filled him with satisfaction, he knew he could not go through with it. He was not a killer and had no wish to be one (he did not count those that fell to his hand when he was protecting Arthur…that was his duty, not because he wanted to or desired it so). So, he would never go and find his useless father and his anger would forever fester inside of him instead of finding an outlet….or so he had thought until he saw his half-sibling.

And while it might not be fair to vent some of that anger on said sibling—life was not always fair.

Merlin grit his teeth to get a hold of his emotions and thoughts before he entered the huge, rock filled cavern that served as both Kilgharrah’s home and prison, miles and miles below Camelot’s citadel.

“So you have finally chosen to answer my call, young warlock” the dragon said in his all knowing, incredibly smug way.

“Not because I want to” Merlin snapped back, his ire spiking at the knowledge that the coming conversation was going to be a drawn out riddle fest.

Kilgaharrah had the nerve to look amused by his visible annoyance. Merlin fought down the urge to stomp his feet like a toddler instead sighing wearily, “Can you please get on with it….I would like to get a moment of sleep before having to ride out with Arthur again at dawn”

Merlin cocked his head to the side for a moment a sudden thought dawning on him, “…is this about Morgana? Do you know where she is? Who has her? Can we save her?” the words spilled out of him in a rapid stream, suddenly he didn’t really mind getting called out of bed in the middle of the night.

“I have told you before and you have failed to head my warnings, young warlock, you should not concern yourself with the witch. It would be better for both Camelot and Arthur should she never be found” Kilgaharrah stated its voice as annoyed as a dragon’s voice can be.

Merlin glared back but bit his tongue, not really in the mood to argue over this once again, “Then why have you called me?”

The dragon shifted and for once an expression of what Merlin could only call unease appeared. Somehow knowing that whatever it was, unnerved even the dragon—who could look positively gleeful when contemplating horrendous fates to all—unsettled Merlin more then he cared to admit.

“Something has changed” Kilgaharrah stated solemnly, “Something that should not have happened has occurred. A shift in destiny and fate….one that even I, as powerful as I am cannot predict the result of”

Merlin stared at the dragon in front of him in silence—partly shocked and a much much larger part concerned by what the dragon was saying. For as long as he had known the dragon, it had always known the outcomes—or at least the possible outcomes—of certain actions and decisions. It had always spoken so steadfast in its belief over his and Arthur’s destiny and the unification of Avalon…even after it’s treachery Merlin had trusted in that vision. He had too; he had devoted his entire life as it was now to it after all. To hear that this might not be the case anymore….

“What do you mean? Me and Arthur will not bring the golden era about? What will happen instead?” Merlin voiced ignoring how his voice cracked displaying his emotional distress for all those to see (which basically amounted to Kilgaharrah, but still).

“I mean what I say, young warlock. I do not know. All I know that something—something not quite natural has shifted the very core of earth, magic and life and even I…a great creature of the Old cannot see what will come” the dragon said rustling it’s wing in a motion that normally signaled the end of their conversations. Kilgaharrah gave one parting comment to the stunned warlock,

“I need not tell you that you should be careful where and how you tread from here young warlock, for I cannot tell you how this will affect your own destiny or that of Camelot’s, I cannot tell you whether this will benefit or negate you in your efforts….all I can say is that from here on out everything has changed”

\--00—

_She shivered as her gaze was drawn away from the blood soaked ground beneath her feet towards the horizon that spread out before her. How she could tell that the black inkiness before her was in fact sky she was not sure, just that she knew that it was._

_The silence was so deep she felt like she was drowning in it, her own slow breathes thunderous in their volume, and she knew without questioning that she was the only one around for miles. She had to be dreaming again…it was the only explanation to this bizarre night-not night world that she found herself in. Normally when she dreamt these dreams she was a simple observer, someone that could only watch what was happening before her, detached from the reality…without even knowing how she knew it, she knew that this time was different. That she was in fact a player in this reality, a part of this world._

_She watched as the piles of bodies strewn across the ground shifted before her very eyes, changing, morphing into what she could only guess where fallen, autumn-touched leaves. She knew somewhere in the back of her mind that this should be shocking to her, but yet in the here and now it seemed as though it was as natural as breathing. They were very pretty she decided leaning down to grasp one of the burnt red leafs….so red._

_The silence was broken by the sharp scream of a raven, and her eyes darted upwards searching the ebony sky for the sight of the bird, only to start in surprise when she did. It was not what she expected to see of a raven, it indeed had the expected shape of a bird, but instead of being black as expected it was a brilliant shimmering gold. Its contrast with the black sky behind it was so great that it caused her eyes to sting in pain and swell with tears._

_She watched as the golden bird coasted down from the sky its form like those of the soldier’s bodies shimmering and changing as it grew closer to the ground. By the time that It had landed it’s body was no longer that of a crows but a man’s…or at least it was close to that of a mans._

_The dark haired being stood before her silent and powerful. She didn’t think to question why he had two large wings arcing from his back, one gold, the other a black so deep that it seemed to suck the color from everything around it. She didn’t think to find this odd for she was far to transfixed by his mirthful smile and knowledge laden eyes to care about such things._

_“Who are you?” she asked, her voice coming out far more meek and quiet then it would ever have while she was awake and a ward of the king—somehow she knew that her titles and masks mattered little here….she felt bare, exposed completely to the man before her._

_He did not answer instead simply smiling at her and turning his gaze to the right. She wondered briefly if he could not speak and that was why he chose to remain silent, but this too was cast aside as she look in the direction he was now staring._

_She heard a gasp and knew that it was hers as she took in the utopia in front of her. The red leaves from before were still scattered about, but this time instead of burnt ground and endless horizon there were large, lush trees, reaching up into a blue cloudless sky. Shimmering streams trickled along beside them looking as though they were filled with molten gold, and Morgana could not help but feel as though she was witnessing something sacred. But what really shocked her was the sight of the man from before—only this time without the extra appendages, sitting relaxed in the shade of one of the towering trees. He sat his face tilted up towards the sky, his eyes closed but this was not what was surprising. The surprising part was the fact that he was not alone._

_No, beside him sat the last person Morgana expected to see….her brother. Arthur appeared to be sleeping, his golden hair slightly mussed, a small smile on his face looking much younger than she ever recalled seeing him in life. But what surprised her most was how his face looked un-creased with worry or the demands that the last few years and Uther had brought, looking for all the world like he belonged here, by this man’s side._

_Morgana tore her eyes away from the bewitching sight to look back in question at the man who had first drawn her attention to said scene. She did not get a chance to ask what that was, what this was or what it meant however, for the man was once again not looking at her, instead looking to the left and without knowing why Morgana once again did as he did and looked in that direction. _

_This time it was not utopia that met her but its antithesis. The red leaves where not scattered but stacked in piles which were alive with flames and sending huge curls of grey smoke into the cloud covered sky. The sound of war rang out around her, the screams of dying men and clashing metal ringing through the air. She felt her eyes drawn to the center of the chaos, and once again the man was there…but instead of resting with his eyes closed he stood upright, glaring down at an unmoving body at his feet._

_She fought the swell of horror that rose within her as she recognized the gold colored hair, now matted with blood and dirt that belonged to said body. She wanted to rush forward to pull the man and his blood covered sword away from her fallen brother but found that she could not move. She watched a silent scream on her lips and the man—no devil, he had to be a devil—looked up slowly from her dead brother a wicked smirk on his lips and held out his hand._

_She did not understand….could not understand why he was looking to her, offering his hand as though it meant it for her. She did not understand why he now walked towards her, uncaringly stepping on Arthur’s corpse, all in a path to get to her. She wanted to run, wanted to scream, wanted to do—to do anything… but instead did nothing._

_She did not know what to think when the man, still smiling at her and keeping his green eyes on her the whole time bent over to his her hand. “for you, My queen”_

Morgana shot awake, her throat raw from the scream that was still in progress.

“Hey--hey there, calm down, you’re okay. Take a deep breath….that’s it…” a soft male voice instructed and Morgana could feel the man it belonged to standing just slightly off to her left, not touching her but close enough that he could should he wish to. Morgana knew that the fact that she woken to find herself in a place she had no recollection of, with a person she was pretty sure she did not know, following a rather terrifying dream that she couldn’t quite remember, that she should not have felt reassured by the man’s words…but she couldn’t help it, there was something about the voice that made her relax almost instantly. Something that should not have been possible considering she was pretty sure she had just had a vision—poor Gwen was always having to dodge defensive swings when trying to talk Morgana out of her post vision terrors.

Yet, she didn’t feel the need to be defensive at the moment. She did as instructed drawing in a slow, deep breath….one that told her that she was definitely not indoors, given to cool temperature and the fresh ozone quality of the air. Turning her head slowly she gave a small jump of surprise when she came face to face with the mystery man’s startling green eyes.

She jerked back not expecting him to be as close as he was, yet still not feeling as scared as she knew she ought to be given the circumstance. There was something that was niggling at her, something she was sure she was supposed to remember in regards to a man with green eyes but for the life of her she could not recall what it was. So instead of trying to figure it out she took the time to study the—truth be told, rather petite man in front of her.

Well, boy really….he couldn’t be much older than most of the starting squires although much less kept**. His raven hair was too long to be considered neat and trim, but not long enough for one to believe he was growing it on purpose…not to mention the general disarray of it. He was far cleaner than one would expect a peasant to be but the state of his clothes—torn and well worn were not fit enough for that of noble blood—or even someone apprenticing under a noble man. Then there were the obvious signs of not sickness no, but general stress at the very least. Thin to the point one might consider him malnourished, shadows under his eyes indicating a lack of sleep and a general weariness in his stance. Yet, where Morgana would normally take all of this as a sign of someone well below her and either pity or disdain them, there was something in his eyes that stopped her from doing either.

There was defiance there yes, but there was also an almost childlike curiosity hidden in the depths not to mention something else that she couldn’t quite categorize…something that reminded her a bit of Mordred the druid boy that her, Merlin and Arthur had helped escape almost a year ago. Funnily enough it was that quality, that unnamed flint that made her feel like she could rely on this boy, trust him where she trust so few others.

She felt a something rough being pushed into her hands and glanced down to see that it was a wooden cup filled with what she had to guess was water. “Here, drink it….I imagine your throat is a little sore, you have one hell of a scream” the boy said in explanation, giving her a lopsided grin that she found herself returning albeit hers was much more cautious.

“Thanks” she said though it came out as a croak and she saw the truth in his previous statement, still she only took a tiny sip well aware of the idiocy of drinking something given to her by a complete stranger. The boy must have seen her hesitance but instead of being offended he smile widened, “it’s safe to drink, I didn’t poison it….promise” he stated before grabbing the cup from her and taking a healthy swig from it himself and passing it back to her, “see? Still perfectly alive”

Morgana stared back at him in shock—it had been sometime since someone had the audacity and nerve to grab anything out of her hands without asking first and yet the boy did it like it was no big deal. The only explanation she could come up with was that he didn’t know who she was…no sane person would behave in such a manner to the king’s beloved ward if they wanted to keep their heads. Shaking her head slightly and deciding to let it go (as it did at least prove that he was not trying to kill her via poisoning at least) Morgana took a deep drink from the cup, relishing in the soothing coolness of its contents.

“I cleaned up what few scrapes you had and wrapped you ankle as best I could…you’ll have to wait until my potion finished though for a true fix, I could try mending it with a spell but I’ve always been rather rubbish at those so it’s probably best not to risk it. Well, unless you have any talent in the healing magics? If you did you could do it yourself….” The boy chattered away as he undid the tight cloth that he must have wrapped around her ankle when she was asleep. It took her a few minutes to process what he was saying and when she did she ripped her leg away from his grasp in disbelief, cursing herself a moment later as the dull throbbing pain that had been there before turned into a sharp stabbing one.

“Ow!” she cursed, glaring at both her leg and the boy.

She knew it wasn’t his fault that she had moved her leg but his blatant referral to magic had shocked her. Not only the fact that he spoke about it in such an offhand-every day manner but the fact that he automatically assumed she had it. She stared at him her eyes narrowed in suspicion, was he a druid? Was she wrong about her previous assumption and he actually did know who she was? She looked him over once again this time searching him for details she might have missed before—like the symbolic tattoos that most druids wore or even one of their pieces of jewelry that attested to their naturalic roots. There was none….not that this meant anything necessarily, given Uther’s hate of magic and his even greater hate and suspicion towards those who wield it (for example the druidic tribes) many of the peaceful magic practitioners had stopped wearing any form of identification as it just wasn’t safe to do so.

“Whoa…calm down, I thought we already established I wasn’t going to hurt you. As I was saying before, most of your injuries were minor, which frankly is kind of a miracle considering the fall you had. If you don’t want to or can’t heal yourself that’s fine….like I said the potion will take a little longer to finish but it should be done by tonight, after which you can drink it and you ankle should mend itself within twenty four hours….okay?” the boy held up his hands in a placative gesture, talking to her like she was a skittish mare and might startle at any moment.

She glared at him, but nodded her head in agreement. “Why do you think I have magic?” she asked too curious about that fact to simply let it go like common sense might dictate.

“Oh that” the boy gave a bark of a laugh and sent her a sheepish look, “um…well if you didn’t, you wouldn’t have been able to enter my camp….I’ve got wards up to keep muggles—er people without magic out. So since you fell in, I can assume you have some magic in you….” He said with a shrug as though he had not just admitted to performing a magical feat so strong that Morgana had never even heard of it. Then again, she was rather new to the magic and its feats so perhaps Aglain and the other druids that she had spent time with had just not thought to mention such things as barriers that could keep people like Uther out. But she thought not, after all if that was possible then why wouldn’t all magic users employ one?

The only conclusion she could come to was that this boy—this wisp of a thing was an incredibly powerful sorcerer….she wondered if he was like the druids, peaceful in his magic or more like the many sorcerers that had tried to attack her stepbrother and Uther—violent and confrontational. From what she could see so far she had to assume he was the former—though she couldn’t quite explain why she felt slightly disappointed by this fact.

Once again she pushed such thoughts aside, turning her attention back to the boy—the boy who she realized she had no ideas name was. “Who are you?” she asked.

“ahh…sorry, I’m Henry. I er….am just passing through Camelot…although I suppose I haven’t actually been passing through for a few weeks….” He trailed off before blushing as he realized that he was rambling again, Morgana got the feeling that it was something he did fairly regularly—probably more so when he was nervous or unsure. Oddly enough instead of finding irritating she found it rather endearing.

“Morgana” she offered in turn watching Henry’s face closely to see his reaction. If he recognized her name he gave no show of it, simply smiling easily and taking her proffered hand kissing the knuckle lightly, “lovely to meet you my lady.”

Morgana found herself rolling her eyes at his cheeky smile, catching the teasing air about it.

“Sooo….why is a lady such as yourself running around half naked in the woods?” Henry asked after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

Morgana debated briefly on whether or not she should tell him the truth, deciding that she might as well. After all he could have killed or harmed her at any time considering that she had been unconscious when he found her and the fact that she was still both injured and weaponless. “I was riding with my maid servant and a few others to pay my respects to my father’s grave, when we were ambushed by a group of bandits” she stated.

“The men we were with were killed and my servant and I were taken prisoner. We managed to escape but in doing so I injured my ankle, so I sent Gwen ahead to try and send word to my stepfather on what happened. I was just preparing to try and fight when my injured ankle caught a root and I fell…next thing I know I am waking up to you, here” Morgana explained as succinctly as she could, leaving out the fact that the men that had accompanied her were knights and that her stepfather was actually the king.

“Ahhh…well, I guess you were lucky then. I hope your servant managed to get away as well. Unfortunately, I doubt that your stepfather or anyone he sends will be able to find you—well, unless they also have magic?” Henry asked raising a questioning brow only to continue when Morgana shook her head no, “….well, then I suppose I will have to accompany you back to wherever it is you came from once your ankle is mended. I would do so earlier but if there is still a group of bandits out there I would prefer for you to be in as good of health as possible.”

Morgana didn’t question the swell of relief that she felt at his words. She had assumed he would not simply heal her to send her back out into the woods alone—but she was rather glad to hear her assumption confirmed…. not that she would ever admit to feeling the need for another’s protection. She was rather fond of her independence after all (something that Uther did not like but indulged).

Another question that had been bothering her made its way to her lips, “Why are _you_ here...alone, in the middle of the forest?” –oh, she had heard him saying that he was passing through but she also heard him mention that he had stayed in this spot for the last little while, and she could admit to being a bit curious as to what would make a boy so young* camp out alone for such a period of time.

She watched as he ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck in a nervous gesture, “um….well, it’s a bit of a long story….” He trailed off looking uncomfortable.

Morgana could admit that she enjoyed turning the tables for once and having her host feeling at odds instead of herself. “Well, as you said we have time”

“…it’s not all that interesting really” Henry tried again but sighed and continued when he saw the stubborn expression being shot his way, “well my guardian passed away a little while ago, but before doing so she told me that my father had, had another family before me and my mother. She said that she thought he had a son from that marriage and that his name was Merlin. Not having any family left or anywhere else to go I figured I’d try and track down my half brother…..”Henry paused something flickering through his eyes before it was gone and he continued his tale, “…well, let’s just say I found him, but I’m not quite sure he was ready to be found…I figured I’d keep my distance and wait it out, see if he might reconsider his opinion given a bit of time. Hence the reason I’ve been hanging out here…though I was just about to move on and find somewhere else to stay…. I think I may have been a bit optimistic in regards to his regards for me” Henry finished with a rather glum sigh, staring morosely into the distance.

Morgana found herself gaping at him, once again shocked. She had expected some story of misfortune or woe, but she hadn’t expected it to involve someone that she knew personally—well, she figured close enough to be personal. Merlin of all people? Her brother’s clumsy, foolish, somewhat charming manservant was related to this rather powerful sorcerer?!?

It was rather hard to believe.

Yet, she did not have a reason to think that Henry was lying to her…what would be the point of making up such a story? In a way she felt a little bad for him, she knew what it was like to lose a guardian and feel unwanted by those left. After all, as much as Uther let her get away with hell, if he ever found out the truth-- who she really was, (aka: magical) he would have her burned at the stake faster than a blink of an eye.

It made her feel even more connected to the green eyed boy….and like she had before with Mordred, she found herself wanting to help him. Slowly, an idea started to form in her head….

Perhaps it was time to use her influence with Uther once more; if this plan worked, she could help Henry and Merlin at the same time, not to mention she would have an ally….someone else with magic in court so that she would not feel so alone there.

Yes, it really was rather ingenious of her….she once again ignored the small prickle in her spine that told her she was missing something rather important. It was not what mattered right now. Right now what mattered was making sure she got what she wanted. Now all she had to do was convince Henry…..it really shouldn’t be that hard.

After all she could be very persuasive when she wanted to be. And for the first time in a long time….she really, really wanted to be.

\--00—

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid….that was the only word that fit. He, Harry James Potter—Myror—Henry Emrys—whoever he was now-- was unbelievably stupid. Or if he was felt like being kind to himself: unlucky.

When the admittedly beautiful, injured woman fell into his camp (he would have said like an angel from the sky, but after having spent some time with her, he felt like she was on the other end of the spectrum; more devil then angel) he hadn’t really thought twice about taking her in and healing her to the best of his abilities.

Ok, so that was sort of a lie, he had been a little wary about welcoming a complete stranger into his temporary sanctum but there was something about her that just made him want to trust her—something that he realized was likely a compatibility between their magic that had led him to telling her more then he would have normally, given the circumstance. Of course he was not so far gone that he had told her the actual truth…just a few snippets of it mixed in with his decided on cover of lies.

Though, he hadn’t been lying to her when he said that he knew she was magical because of her ability to cross his wards, he _had_ left out the fact that he also knew she was magical and strongly suspected some seerer routes because he was able to _feel_ her magic.

This revelation had actually shocked him quite a bit more than having some unknown woman cross his wards. Up until this point he hadn’t had any inclination that he was able to do more then use magic….that he was actually able to feel it—see it really.

Back in his old world Harry knew that everyone had thought he was the magical equivalent of Dumbledore, that he had some awesome unheard of power that had allowed him to live through the killing curse and that would allow him to defeat Voldemort a second (or fifth—but who’s counting?) time. It was one of the things about his fame that he hated the most; the fact that he had always felt like such a fraud.

Oh, he knew that he was pretty good at defense against the dark arts, and that he seemed to have an intuitive understanding of magical creatures and such…but he was never really smart per-say (that had always been Hermione’s gimmick, not his). He had never seen or felt like he was on par with the greats—people like Albus or Tom who had an innate understanding of magic and how it worked, who could manipulate and use the force without a second thought. No, he had always had to struggle and practice and _work_ for any magical achievement he made, his survival and escapes were based far more on luck then skill…but try explaining that to the desperate public. The people who needed to believe that he was the second coming of Merlin (and wasn’t that ironic), their hero…their conqueror.

So no, he had never truly believed the hype about him being far more powerful than most of his peers or even the adults in his life….his time here however, was starting highlight a few misconceptions he might have of himself.

He had noticed how much stronger his magic felt in this dimension….literally crackling and sparking beneath his skin, like a barely controlled infernal surging and ebbing in his veins, but he had at first simply thought that it was magic—not _him_ that was different here. He had been shocked to find that he could perform spells and such wandlessly…something that not even Dumbledore could do, and that it came so easily. So easily, and so intensely that most of the time he didn’t need a spell, but a simply thought or intent. But his magic was so different, so wild and powerful that he was actually a little afraid of using it—having caused numerous things to blow up when he simply meant to heat or summon them—reactions that seemed to say that his power had magnified ten-fold.

He had gradually come to terms with this…the fact that how he felt and used magic had changed (of course two weeks with nothing to do but self reflection likely helped a bit), but it wasn’t until she had stumbled into his camp that he realized that the crackling under his skin was him feeling his magic…and more importantly that he could feel other’s magic.

Thinking back on it, he felt rather stupid for missing this detail, he had after all seen and spoken (argued) with Merlin and should have been able to realize that the prickly, staticky feel he had felt at the time was in fact him feeling his half-brother’s magic…but he had been too worked up to make the connection then. It was only now; now that he was calmer and more collected and could feel the same (although to a far less degree) prickly feeling coming from Morgana, that he realized that he could sense magic. It was yet another change that was both awe-inspiring and all together terrifying.

It was after she had fallen back asleep (shortly after having drunk the potion Harry prepared) that he had stopped to think about these changes. While true, his first assumption—that magic itself had changed—could very well be valid, if he thought about it….truly thought about it, it seemed a little unlikely. Magic was an all-powerful source; it was something universal, something unchangeable, unconquerable….really, believing that such a thing that was the very energy that allowed multiple planes of existence to exist in the first place could be changed so easily was a little ridiculous.

No, if he allowed himself to think about it, it made far more sense that it was he, not magic that had changed. And really it was rather common sense—so much so that it made Harry blush a little with embarrassment. Magic was tied to the soul, and he was no longer a half soul, so of course his magic had changed…increased now that he was ‘whole’. To be honest, he wasn’t quite sure how to feel about this realization.

But no, that was not the reason he was calling himself stupid. While yes, he should have realized that his magic would have changed along with his soul and his personality, the reason he was calling himself stupid was for the simple fact that he had somehow ended up with the _king’s ward_ of all people camped out with him.

Morgana Pendragon, Uther’s beloved ward, a witch….was now staying in his camp. He wasn’t sure what he should be more shocked over; the fact that he had Uther’s daughter sleeping on his bed roll (something that he would never ever tell the king, he was rather fond of his head after all) or the fact that Morgana was a witch. The ward of the most infamous magic hating king Camelot had ever known was a witch—oh, the irony.

But still he could have dealt with these facts, healed the pseudo princess and sent her on her way, no one the wiser except for the fact that he had promised to personally deliver her home (which apparently was Camelot—lucky him…) and had somehow allowed her to talk him into possibly staying in Camelot thereafter.

It was the last part that was making him question sanity. Stay in Camelot… a magical hating town, where Merlin—his Harry hating brother (or rather Henry but one and the same) was residing. But Morgana had spoken so persuasively, telling him he didn’t have anywhere else to go, that running away wouldn’t solve anything and that maybe, just maybe if he was around Merlin more that his brother would come around. She had convinced him that seeking an apprenticeship under the court physician would be a grand idea….that Gaius, the current physician was not doing as well as he once was, that he was getting up in years and with Merlin, his previous assistant running around after her dolt of a brother, that he really did need someone else to help him out.

Harry couldn’t even remember agreeing to all of this, and yet here he was walking along side his horse (on which Morgana was riding) on his way to Camelot. So yes, he was obviously stupid and unlucky….or unlucky and stupid.

Ahh…well it wasn’t like it was set in stone or anything. Maybe he could simply drop her off, give some lame explanation of coming across her in the woods on his journey AWAY from Camelot and be done with it. Deep down, he knew that this would not be the case especially given the look on Morgana’s face when he had suggested such a plan….but he kind of hoped that maybe when Morgana was faced with all of her friends and family (and no he did not think the last word bitterly. At all) that she would forget about him and let him be on his way….without whatever ridiculous scheme she was up to taking place.

He was not a complete idiot, he knew scheming when he saw it….what he didn’t know was just why she wanted him to stay in the fabled city so badly. He didn’t sense malicious intent coming off of her but one never knew…

There was a slight….well, darkness that he felt around her--if that made any sense….it was small and buried, barely noticeable really, but he could feel it every now and then. Generally when she mentioned the king—but that wasn’t what worried Harry….no, what worried Harry was the fact that this spot of darkness didn’t frighten him in the least. He felt almost….well, _drawn_ to it.

And that scared him. It scared him a lot…..just who was he becoming? Or perhaps the more pertinent question should be; _what_ was he becoming?

\--00—

For once Uther allowed for his ‘kingly-I-am-higher-than-all-and-must-show-no-weakness’ persona to fall as he pulled his daughter* into a tight hug. He had been so afraid that he had lost her for good this time; lost her and had never let himself show her how much she truly meant to him. Well, this scare had changed that…he had made a vow to tell her the truth; the truth about both his feelings and the circumstances of her birth.

Of course vows were funny things: easy to make in the spur of the moment when fear was overwhelming and one was desperate to achieve or prevent a certain outcome. Sadly, they were not so easy to adhere to once everything had settled… when the prize was obtained but the price hadn’t been paid. Then it was all too easy—especially for men like Uther—to back out on their end of the bargain, to forget hastily thrown prayers and pretend that such promises had never been made in the first place.

Which was why Uther was now embracing his daughter (who had no idea that she was his daughter) while pushing away the fact that he had promised himself that he would tell her who her true father actually was…not Uther’s beloved deceased friend, but Uther himself. Making Morgana of course, not his ward but the bastard daughter of a woman who was not Uther’s late wife Igraine.

No, he had after all been afraid and his fear had made him think silly, foolish things—why tell Morgana the truth when everyone was happier with the lie? Morgana was, not knowing that her true father had not left her because he died on the battle field but because he was too ashamed to claim her. Arthur was, not knowing that his father, the king was not the man he had idolized as a child but in fact a weak willed man who had cheated on his mother, the kingdom was, because they did not have to face the fact that there might be questions or challenges to the crowns succession, and finally Uther was, because he could continue with his self delusions of being wise and righteousness.

So yes, while he may have made all sorts of silly vows to come clean if only his daughter was found alive and unharmed, they were easy enough to ignore now that she was back in his arms again. He suppose he should be grateful to the urchin that found her lost in the woods and had sheltered her and brought her back to him….and he was. Had the boy been of noble blood he would have no doubt found himself knighted or rewarded with a large pile of gold, but the child (for everyone younger than him was a child once you reached Uther’s age) was a mere peasant or some such ilk so Uther could not give him such things.

But still, he was thankful and a just and fair king and as such he knew that the boy deserved some kind of reward, not to mention it seemed as though Morgana was quite taken with the boy, (though this made Uther reconsider the reward and wonder if it would be better to execute the peon….) so he knew he had to do something. It was obvious the urchin was simple—obviously not being of noble blood the boy could not be expected to be anything but s _imple_ …so a simple reward should suffice.

Perhaps he could award him a position in the royal staff? Yes, this was always a very generous gift to people of such upbringing…..but what position? He honestly would love to replace that Mervin or whatever his face was and give the boy to Arthur as a man-servant—because no matter how simple the boy was, he could not be any worse than Mervin, who still seemed to have quite a mental affliction. But no, Arthur for reasons that Uther did not understand (nor wanted to) was rather fond of his retarded** manservant and would likely be in a snit should Uther try to replace him……and honestly the king had enough to worry about without dealing with his heir’s pouts. So no, he couldn’t make the child Arthur’s manservant and he would rather reinstate magic—god forbid—to Camelot then make him Morgana’s servant (he really did not like how close his daughter and the boy seemed to be—not at all).

He released Morgana and moved back to his thrown to give him time to think of a solution, allowing his eyes to wander as he pondered what to do with the child. The solution was not long coming and as his eyes fell on Gaius, (who was looking rather weary and worn down) he was once again amazed by his brilliance and cunning. Of course! He would give the boy to Gaius as an apprentice! That way his old friend would be sure to keep an eye on the stranger (for even if he had rescued Morgana, Uther would not just let anyone walk into his court without at least some surveillance—and Gaius his oldest friend would never hide anything or lie to him) and his old friend would be able to pass on his grunt work and rest a bit more. Not to mention the boy would pick up knowledge and skills so that when—god forbid—Gaius got too old for his duties, there would be someone available to take over his position. Yes….this was why Uther was king; no one else could have come up with such a solution!

“You have done both myself and my kingdom a great service in protecting my ward from harm and returning her to me….” Uther announced imperiously (it was the only way to speak when addressing the court. After all, one must appear high and mighty at all times) while allowing his eyes to rest on the rather frail looking boy in front of him, “…and as such I have decided to reward you.”

The boy, for some reason did not looking overly happy at this announcement but Uther just put it down to him being simple minded and not quite understanding how one should act when being honored by their king (with reverence and gratitude of course). “Really, your highness….that is not necessary, I am sure anyone would have done the same….” the peon denied quietly—ah, that was better! A much more appropriate response…and since this response made him happy, Uther decided that he would indeed go ahead with his plan and reward him.

“Not everyone…you have shown valor above that of your station...”—he missed the annoyance that flashed over a good many people’s faces at this statement, Harry’s, most of the staff and Morgana to be exact—“and as such I have decided it necessary to acknowledge this. To show you the kingdom’s thanks you will be given the position of Court Physician’s apprentice” Uther finished grandly, waiting for the exclamation of delight and thanks that should be coming from the peasant. When nothing but stunned disbelief came, Uther frowned.

In Uther’s mind it was simply due to the peon’s shock that it took him so long before he stuttered out an acknowledgement of his reward, not the fact that said peon was afraid of losing his head should he refuse the king’s offer.

That done and settled Uther summarily dismissed the boy and the rest of the court holding back only a few of his most senior advisors—he did after all have more important matters to attend to. Morgana was back where she belonged, he had come up with a solution that would reward the boy who brought her back while both keeping him far from his daughter and solving the issue of Gaius’s deteriorating health, and he was still the best and wisest king Camelot had ever had.

It really was too bad that such a wise king missed the devious smile on his daughter’s face, the intense (and slightly confused) scrutiny on his son’s, the absolute loathing on his son’s idiot manservant’s, or the indecipherable one on the unimportant peon’s face.

Really, Uther should have known better….it was the smallest details in the end that brought a king down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title: A verse taken from the nursery rhyme titled, ‘Little Bo Peep’
> 
> *For this fan-fiction I am majorly altering Balinor’s character. In this one he originally loved Hunith but the love soon faded after the birth of Merlin. I am still having Balinor the son of a dragonlord but I am making it so that the power did not manifest in him but for reasons yet unspecified, skipped over him establishing themselves in Merlin instead. Balinor resented the fact that he did not receive the gift which gradually mutated into a hatred for all things magic related. Thus causing him to hate Merlin. I further have him become a drunk abusive ass (as witnessed by Harry’s—myror’s memories). Merlin does not know the later, nor does he know that Harry has magic thus believes that he lost his father and was sentenced to a life of hardship (for both he and his mother) while his half brother and the woman his father cheated on Hunith with, lived a life of luxury and love. He also does not yet know that his father has been dead for several years. 
> 
> **Knighthood training began in early childhood when a basic education and good manners and rules of etiquette were taught at home. At the age of 7 young boys were sent away to the castles and homes of wealthy lords or relatives to embark on their knighthood training. From the age of seven to fourteen these young boys were given the role of a Medieval Page. From fourteen to twenty-one these 'apprentice knights' were referred to as Squires . The different types and styles of Knighthood training depended on the age and strength of the apprentice knights.
> 
> *Uther is calling Morgana his daughter because even though at this point in the cannon Morgana, Arthur, Merlin etc do not know Morgana’s true relation to Uther, Uther always did. While Uther is in my opinion an extremely delusion ass, I do not think that he is so far in denial that he wouldn’t call Morgana his daughter in his head. 
> 
> **I mean no offense for using any derogatory slang in this story, I used ‘retarded’ simply because it is Uther speaking and such things as political correctness did not exist in Uther’s era ;)


	7. I do not like thee, Doctor Fell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh! Sorry for how very, very long this update took, I have no excuse other then it is almost summer and well, summer is busy ;) To make it up to you wonderful and patient readers this chapter is exceedingly long (so YAY!).
> 
> That being said please leave me a review or Harry might just turn out to be Uther's secret love child (muhahaha...so you had all better review!) Jokes.
> 
> Anyhow read on and (hopefully) enjoy!
> 
> Warnings: religious views voiced by certain characters, language, slashy undertones, generally unmoral and murdeous actions and attitude etc etc

 

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_“It is one thing to believe in witches, and quite another to believe in witch-smellers.” ―_ [ _G.K. Chesterton_ ](http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7014283.G_K_Chesterton) _,_ [ _Eugenics and Other Evils: An Argument Against the Scientifically Organized State_ ](http://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/178242)

* * *

 

All castles, it turns out, were not the same. Having spent so much of his juvenescence trudging through the ever changing and often disappearing halls of Hogwarts, Harry had not thought that Camelot’s citadel would be any challenge at all. Apparently he was not yet at the age where things stopped proving him wrong….as currently, he was definitely lost.

In fact he could safely say that he had been lost thirty minutes ago, and if he wasn’t concerning himself with his wounded pride, he would admit that it was probably closer to an hour ago….about the time that he had stepped foot outside of Gaius’s chambers. He was unfortunately finding out that he was utterly perplexed by these winding corridors, leading him to hope that the potion Gaius had given him didn’t have a short expiry date on it—or for that matter, neither did the person it was intended for.

That would be bad….and he was certain that he would take the blame should he end up accidently killing someone because he took too long to deliver a vital medicine. Of course he might not have been so lost had someone (cough cough, Merlin) actually given him the quick tour of the citadel that Gaius had instructed him to do so. Somehow, Harry, while disappointed, was not surprised that Merlin had been to ‘busy’ to do so and had left his half brother to figure things out for himself.

Harry wasn’t sure how much worse things could get between the two of them, though he definitely didn’t think the King giving him Merlin’s old position (even if the warlock no longer had the time or energy to properly do said position) had endeared him in his brother’s eyes at all. Well, at least Harry had managed to talk them out of giving him Merlin’s room with Gaius, and moving Merlin to the chambers meant for servants-- he really didn’t think that his brother would have appreciated having Harry kick him out of a room that he had called home for the past year. No, thankfully they—whoever they were, (for Harry didn’t think that it was actually the King who decided such things; he rather doubted the king cared to bother himself with where his servants slept) had given Harry a small bedroom on the out skirts of the servant’s area. It was nothing fancy…. honestly, it rather reminded him of his bedroom back in Privet Drive—but he didn’t mind so much. It helped that he was not the only one with such cramped and sparse living space (really, not being singled out made all the difference).

Ok, he was sure he had seen this particular set of stairs once before….the tapestry of the knights riding into battle looked WAY to familiar—mind you, most of the tapestries in this place seemed to involve knights and battles of some sort, so he couldn’t say for certain that he had seen this particular one bef---

“Umph” Harry let out a surprised grunt as he fell backwards, having run into something both moving and very solid. Pain ricocheted up his back side where it collided with the hard stone floor, and he heard the horrifying sound of glass breaking. Shit. Well, he was definitely not going to be able to deliver that potion now….unless he used magic to piece it back together, but somehow that didn’t seem like the wisest thing to do what with this being Camelot and all…..

When Harry was able to shake off his surprise at being suddenly knocked to the floor, he was met with the sound of cursing, “What the hell?! Watch where you’re going!” a rather annoyed—perhaps even angry voice snarled.

Raising his head to look at the idiot who ran into him ( _not_ the other way around!), Harry was momentarily left speechless. The blond man standing and glaring down at him was, to put it simply: gorgeous….the kind of gorgeous that would not have looked out of place in those magazines that Aunt Petunia secretly read (you know; magazines that were really meant for teenage girls not housewives—but that had a bigger market in the housewives sector regardless of that fact). A blond Adonis with blue eyes and a body that even under all that chainmail, one could tell was fit….yeah…probably not the most important thing to note at the moment…. he probably should have been more concerned with the pissed off part of his looks right here and now.

“Watch where I’m going?!” Harry couldn’t help but ask incredulously “You’re the one that knocked me over! Maybe you should watch where you’re going!” and really, Harry had hoped that his natural knack at insulting the wrong people and getting himself into trouble would have been one of the personality traits that hadn’t stayed with him after the soul-meld….unfortunately, this didn’t appear to be the case, as Harry belated made the connection of just who it was that was standing in front of him.

 _Prince_ Arthur. Ahhhh….double shit.

Though in his defense it wasn’t as though he had actually met the prince before…. Sure, he had been vaguely aware of seeing the man standing off to the side of his father’s throne yesterday—but he had been a little preoccupied with trying to get out of Morgana’s machinations and Uther’s ‘benevolence’ to really pay the blond prince any notice. Which in hindsight was rather stupid of him—especially since he had already decided that he would search the _boy_ out to make sure that he had not in fact fallen victim to a assassination ploy or some such thing (which Harry didn’t think was the case because he was sure Uther would have shown some signs that his heir had been murdered recently…then again, from the stories he had heard about Uther, that really wasn’t the best evidence to go by). Right, not important right now, getting back on track….

He almost laughed at the surprised and….considering (?) look on the prince’s face at his witty (belligerent) remark. “Excuse me?” Arthur asked, although his tone didn’t necessarily sound all that pissed off—that was a good thing right?

“You’re excused” Harry said, once again allowing his mouth to completely bypass the brain part of the thinking before you speak equation.

The prince’s eyebrows were no longer visible considering the height they were raised, “no. I was not asking for your _pardon,_ you idiot. Do you have _any_ idea who you are speaking to?!?” Arthur stated shaking his head slightly, disbelief dripping enough to fill a large ocean, evident in his tone.

It was only now that Harry’s brain caught up with his impulsive smart aleck nature and he found himself flushing (which was even worse than the smart ass remarks in his opinion), “er….” Was all he managed, casting desperately for words that would allow him to vanish back into the comfort of obscurity where he didn’t run into Princes and insult them needlessly.

Oddly enough, instead of immediately ordering his arrest and his subsequent beheading, Arthur just let out a sigh of resignation and rubbed his eyes tiredly, “Your Merlin’s brother aren’t you?” it sounded much more like an accusation then a question.

Not really sure where the prince was going with this, Harry saw no point in lying, it was one part of his new identity that he hadn’t felt the need to change or alter in some way or another, “um….half actually” Harry stated once again not really sure why he couldn’t simply answer with a yes….like the prince no doubt expected.

“What?” Arthur asked, looking at him like he was some form of really gross and icky foot fungi; a sort of a baffled disgust.

Harry forced the flush of embarrassment that wanted to turn his face into a ripe tomato to stay at bay (occlumency had more uses then just keeping someone out of your mind….hiding signs of distress or embarrassment was one such use), “he’s my half brother…Merlin, that is. Different mothers, same father….” Harry trailed off realizing that he was again rambling and telling the prince information that he was pretty sure Arthur really didn’t give two shits about. It was just that he kept getting distracted, his hair was so….shiny….very gold….

Harry shook his head violently to dislodge those thoughts (apparently he had fallen much harder then he thought—causing all common sense and reason to elude him…) and slowly picked himself up off the ground, looking down at the shattered vial with a sigh….shit, he should not be standing here getting flustered and hot over the stupid prince of Camelot; he should be going back to Gaius’s (if he could locate it) and getting a replacement potion….crap…

“Er….right, well _this_ is suddenly making more and more sense…” Arthur muttered, more to himself then Harry looking at the broken glass and Harry’s dishevelment. Harry, for his part ignored the comment as it really made little sense to him-- no doubt about Merlin-- another little thing that he did not know, but some pompous prince knew instead. And no, that fact did not sting.

Suddenly feeling incredibly uncomfortable, at what—the situation, Arthur’s golden hair, or his own inability to form a coherent and sensible thought at the moment—Harry didn’t know. What he did know was that he needed to get out of there and that the sooner he did the better.

Unfortunately, getting out of there would mean knowing where the fuck he was and what direction he needed to be heading in….which he did not.

Deciding that swallowing his pride would be a lesser concession then continuing to stand here and endure this embarrassing conversation, Harry bit the bullet (as the muggles would say). “Er….sorry, about…um you know. I will just be going….if you could point me in the direction of the physician’s quarters?” Harry mumbled resolutely not meeting the blue eyes peering at him in fascination (the kind of fascination one watches a car crash with or a science experiment gone wrong).

Apparently he was not the only one feeling a little off kilter at this encounter, as the prince stuttered out his own ineloquent response, “what? Er---what?”

Annoyed at the constant staring and questions, Harry sent him a glare, “Which. Way. IS. Gaius’s?” he over enunciated each word—did he just really have a death wish? He knew people back in the old world used to joke about it, but maybe there was more truth to their words then they or he ever expected? He may not have been here all that long but it was long enough to know that there was a distinct and brutal divide amongst classes and one did _not_ speak to royalty like he was and live to tell the tale….

Arthur shot him another indecipherable look before speaking, the commanding tone that one expected from royalty finally making an appearance, “The way to Gaius’s? are you saying that you do not know this already…what with being the court physician’s apprentice?”

Harry bristled at his words but could not deny that this was probably something that he should know already (and he would if his ass of a brother had done what he was suppose to do). He sighed, grudgingly admitting “No, I was rather tired during the tour last night _sire_ ….I am afraid I did not retain much of it.” He hated—absolutely hated taking the fall for someone else’s inaction (even more so since he had joined with Myror’s soul piece) but it was his brother and even if Merlin was being a complete shmuck and child about this whole thing, Harry wasn’t about to rat him out to his ‘master’ (and that was another thing that he couldn’t understand: why the hell was Merlin posing as Arthur’s servant of all things? Wasn’t he suppose have been the court sorcerer and advisor? Whatever…. just add it to the ever growing list of questions that he needed to find answers to).

Surprisingly enough, Arthur’s stance relaxed slightly and the corners of his mouth looked like they were trying to curl up into the beginnings of a smile. “Ah…yes, you did have a rather few trying days I would imagine…and not just because you had to put up with Morgana” this time Arthur did shoot him a grin.

Harry stared at him a little dumbfounded….was that a…joke? Was Prince Arthur trying to joke with him? (even if it was a rather lame one). Harry sent him a hesitant smile back, not quite sure if the prince was actually joking with him or making him the butt of the joke. “Ahh…right, so if you would mind?” Harry tried again. He was probably breaking all sorts of etiquette rules by asking the prince for directions but he really didn’t favor wandering around these halls for the rest of his life.

“I am heading in that direction, why don’t I just show you? Maybe if I have time later I will give you a second tour….” Arthur offered still smiling slightly.

Harry, once again speechless managed to nod in agreement, before turning to follow the now walking prince.

He couldn’t help thinking as he watched the prince covertly out of the corner of his eye, that maybe he wasn’t going to be as lost in Camelot as he had thought.

\--0--

The churning feeling that had been ailing Merlin for the past day and a half swelled at the sound of conversation that had him hastily stowing his book of magic under Gaius’s dusty anatomy texts. It wasn’t necessarily the conversation itself that was causing his current ulcer--no, the cause of his current ailment was one and the same….Henry.

From the moment he saw his half brother’s petite form leading a pale looking Morgana back into Camelot, he had known that he would not like what came after. And he was right. Merlin did not like it. At. All.

He had been angry enough at even having met his ‘long lost’ brother and that had been back when his brother had known no one from Camelot (well, no one well…as he seemed to have somehow garnered Guinevere’s sympathies in a matter of hours—enough so that Gwen spoke hesitant words in his defense and had agreed to pass along a bag from him to Merlin. A bag that Merlin had immediately discarded to the deepest recesses under his bed; he was initially just going to throw it out…but for some reason he couldn’t quite bring himself to do so; hence stashing it someplace he wouldn’t have to look at it). Now however, the bastard had somehow managed to ingrain himself enough into Lady Morgana’s good graces that the king had rewarded him with a position not only within Camelot, but in the royal household!

True, the king had at one time done the same for Merlin, but Merlin had saved Arthur’s live! Now his brother had basically been given the same and only because he had somehow managed to find the lady and bring her home—something that none of the knights or Arthur had been able to do…which in itself was a little suspicious. Merlin sighed in annoyance, he knew that wasn’t really what was bothering him about the whole thing…no, it was the conspicuous pairing of the Dragon’s warnings and Henry’s sudden reappearance that was truly bothering him. Because as much as he hated and resented his half brother, he was still family…no matter what Merlin had previously told Henry.

And as family, while Merlin would be hard pressed to be truly all that sad should something befall his sibling…it didn’t mean he wanted to watch it happen, or worse be part of it. Something, that if the dragon’s fears were true, he might just have to be…for the good of Arthur and Camelot of course.

At this moment however, Merlin was hard pressed to tell if the flipping of his breakfast was caused by the dragon’s warning and Henry’s own suspicious nature, or the fact that his brother had just entered Gaius’s chambers lead by no other then Arthur himself. Merlin resolutely decided that it had to be the first….he had absolutely no reason for it to be the second. How many times had he himself been engaged in what apparently was an animated discussion with the crowned prince? Yes, definitely the second because there was zero reason for him to be feeling jealous of his half brother at the moment. None what-so-ever.

“Mer _lin_! There you are you idiot! I’ve been searching everywhere for you!” the oh-so-familiar voice of the prince cried out when he looked up from his conversation with Henry. He paused a moment his eye-brows scrunching as though he just recalled something important, “I thought I assigned you to the armory this morning…..don’t tell me you have already finished polishing the new chain male?!” Arthur stated his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Merlin sighed mentally, he had been planning on using the next hour and a half to read up on a few spells—specifically a monitoring one he had been planning on casting on Henry—and then just using his magic to quickly complete his assigned task…of course pretending the whole time that he had been doing said tasks. Great….well that plan was obviously ruined—time to come up with yet another excuse.

“Er….you did but Gaius needed someone to watch his Blackspore remedy and he got called into town, and since his _assistant_ was nowhere to be found, I got stuck doing it” Merlin lied quickly, sneering slightly at the word assistant. True they were blood—but since his father had been happy to toss Merlin and his mom away for Henry, Merlin had no problem shoving him under the bus every now and again; especially since it was Arthur not Uther. All that would happen was that Henry might get a few days in the stalks. Something that Merlin really wouldn’t mind seeing—at all.

And yet it didn’t happen. Merlin watched in astonishment (and a bit of jealousy, perhaps) as Arthur frowned and turned to look at his slightly red faced brother who had his mouth set in an obstinate line. Henry shrugged, while shifting a bit but refused to look away from the prince’s unhappy face, “er….I got lost?” Henry offered, looking sheepish but not apologetic.

Arthur stared at him for a long moment, sighing in resignation and muttering something under his breath before turning back to Merlin, “fine stay here and watch whatever it is that Gaius wants you to watch, you will then go to the armory after that and complete the tasks I have assigned you….” Arthur ordered then looked to his brother before continuing “I had better give you that tour now so that you are not completely useless the rest of the day…I suppose sword practice can wait for one day”

Merlin gaped at Arthur—since when did the prince ever, he meant EVER put off sword practice...for anyone? And what about chewing Henry out like he would have had it been _Merlin_ who had gotten lost? Where was _his_ punishment?  

Not noticing—or pretending not to notice Merlin’s look of surprise (betrayal) Arthur turned and walked swiftly out the door, grabbing onto Henry’s arm as he stalked past. Just before Arthur left the room he turned to Merlin and added “Oh, and the chain male better sparkle when you’re done with it” before letting the door swing shut.

Merlin stood there staring at the door for a long few minutes after….yes, he really, really did not like this.

At all.

\--oo—

It wasn’t fair! Completely and totally un-fair; that was what it was!

And okay, Merlin was old enough and wise enough to realize when he was acting well below his years; irrational and childish, some might even say. But they were not him. They did not have to sit by and watch as his brother—who he had never wanted to meet (at least this is what he told himself) waltzed into his safe haven (and perhaps he needed to revisit the definition of the word safe considering this was Camelot, and he was a magic practitioner….but eh…), weasel his way into Merlin’s old job position, and make good with people Merlin considered his friends (and ok, calling Arthur a friend was perhaps stretching it a bit—because although he was almost certain that Arthur felt at least _some_ sort of affection for him, however small, the prince was not exactly forthcoming on such things).

But no, despite how upset…and he could admit, threatened he was feeling by Henry’s presence here in Camelot, Merlin realized that his surge of animosity towards his younger half sibling was perhaps a tad unjust….even for the likes of _him_. He had tried to ignore it…really he had. He had even managed to last for most of the morning, but sadly he could feel his control slipping. He could feel his magic crackling and pulsing, itching to find release—and he knew that if he did not do something soon to pacify it that it would act on its own, finding its own target for release. And that would be bad.

Very bad.

Which is why he, Merlin, was doing the responsible thing (like always) and sitting up on a lone hill top allowing his magic to satisfy itself by playing with the slow drifting fire smoke. He figured that it was much better that it form dragons, horses and knights out of smoke then it was to let it build to the point where it would lash out and do something that he could not hide; like turning his brother into a toad in front of the prince, or worse Uther. Though the toad bit did have a certain enticement to it….he was sure Henry could live quite a happy and satisfying life with all the other toads in some swamp: a swamp far, far from Camelot, Arthur and most importantly, Merlin.

Sadly, his day dreaming of such things was rudely interrupted by the sound of snapping leaves. It was just enough time for him to spin around and see the shocked looking face of a peasant woman.

[taken from actual episode script]

“Did you see it? The smoke, did you see it?” she asked gesturing frantically at the remnants of smoke that were just now dissipating from its previous shape.

Shit! This was not good. It was never, never good when something seemingly unnatural was ‘witnessed’ by someone living in Camelot. Especially if that someone seemed inclined to take their observations to the king….

Merlin put an immediate halt to his panicked thoughts and forced himself to calm down, fixing a slightly befuddled expression to his face. It was not too late to fix this. Yes, the woman had witnessed the smoke forming odd shapes but she did not seem to realize that it was him causing the strange phenomena….he could talk her out of this yet.

“No, I saw nothing” he denied his best poker face in place, hoping with all hope that she decided that she was seeing things and let it go. Her next words disabused him of any such hopes.

“Are you blind? You were right here! It was magic. I tell you. There’s sorcery here. We must tell the King!” and with those most dreaded words spoken she did not she wait for a response but hastily made her way down the hill and (he had to assume) towards the castle.

Oh….this was not good. Not good at all.

Gaius was going to kill him. That is if Uther did not first.

\--o—

Harry made his way slowly through the thick woods, not paying a whole lot of attention to where he was going as he tried (and largely failed) to make his heart stop racing and his face lose the flush that it had somehow gained while being given a tour of the citadel by Prince Arthur. He really had no idea why he was experiencing such symptoms….none what-so-ever.

He most definitely had not spent the majority of the tour discretely (he hoped) admiring Arthur’s fine physique (one that clearly demonstrated the fact that the prince was a strong fighter),hair that just happened to catch, and somehow hold the late morning’s golden light, or gazing into those cerulean pools, that just begged to be gazed into. Noooo….that would be a rather stupid thing to become distracted by, and Harry had decided when he was given his second chance, that he was done doing stupid things…. thus why he hadn’t been doing that.

Gaius’s half knowing and half suspicious look at him when he returned from his tour had done nothing to help his flush and he was most grateful that the elderly physician hadn’t commented on his flustered state, but rather handed him a large basket and sent him off into the woods to find herbs and other useful medicinal plants. At least out here, he was all alone and therefore would not run the risk of further embarrassing himself.

So it was with no small amount of surprise, that during the herb gathering he was supposed to be doing and the wool gathering that he was actually doing, that he became aware of a rather panicked sounding female voice and a panicked (although better concealed in its panic) male voice a few stone’s throw from him.

He fought with himself for all of a few seconds (trying to tell himself that it was not any of his business if others had somehow found trouble and were now dealing with the consequences of finding it) before his old Harry instincts seemed to win. Well, no that was not entirely true—Myror’s half was not actually opposed to seeing what was going on, just opposed to actually doing anything to help should the situation warrant it.

He knew he shouldn’t have been shocked to see that his dear brother was one of the currently worked up conversers. And after listening to the peasant woman’s words---words that talked of sorcery and informing the king, Harry could easily admit that his brother’s alarm might be warranted.

From what he had gleaned from the situation, Merlin had done something with magic and that magic had been witnessed…..something that did not bode well for his brother’s long-term health.

Harry did not know what he could do. For as much as he was currently both hurt and angry at his brother’s ignorance and blatant rejection (without so much as a by-your-leave) of Harry, he was still his only (as far as he knew) living relative. And Harry—even with Myror’s addition to his personality—was still not nearly cold hearted enough to want to see actual (and likely irreversible) harm come to his brother. There was no question that Harry would do everything in his power to help his brother…

The only real question that was left was; what could he do?

\--oo—

Her stomach churned with anxiety, the frantic beat of her heart doing nothing to help with the matter. From the moment that man stepped a foot inside the walls of Camelot, fear had been her most prevalent emotion. It was because her fear and anxiety was so great, that she did not recognize the second, only slightly weaker, emotion thrumming through her: hate.

Really, one could not necessarily blame her….fear and hate were rather similar in how their tangible symptoms presented. But perhaps she should have realized when she feared Uther more than the man who supposedly induced her anxiety.

She did not.

The only person, who seemed to have a true inkling to what she was experiencing, was her newest, and quickly becoming most important companion. The green eyed boy, who looked so unassuming, could easily understand such things as fear….and now that he was whole; hate.

But even he did not seem to realize the depth or the consequence of her strengthening bitterness towards Uther, maybe if he had, maybe if she had, the story would have turned out entirely different.

Somewhere deep below the citadel, an ancient, scaled beast of fire and flight shivered.  

\------00---------

“What are we going to do?”

Harry stared at the frantic girl—no-- witch, in front of him, wondering the very same thing. He had no idea what to do at this point. While he had known that the peasant woman running to Uther would bring consequences that he would not like, he had not expected for Uther to call in the manipulative charlatan.

A charlatan, who despite his trickery and deceit, seemed to have an uncanny ability to actually find and unmask magic practitioners….it would be amusing that the man seemed to almost stumble upon the sorcerers in his midst, almost by accident, if it was not so terrifying.

Well terrifying might be a tad strong perhaps, because Harry was certain that he could, if he so desired, make the man simply disappear; though because the witch hunter had already started with his accusations, his sudden disappearance might make matters worse. And despite being less self-sacrificial then he had been when he was just plain Harry, he had no desire to see innocents burn because of Uther’s prejudiced paranoia (although in this case, the paranoia would have been justified…but details).

One thing was for certain; Harry was quickly starting to realize that his magic and his spells and potions were very different from the magic practiced in this day and age. He knew he shouldn’t be surprised that the magic that current day sorcerers practiced was so elementary, as it was several centuries before the time he had actually grown up in (and a completely different world), but somehow, he had always pictured them to be more powerful… not less.

Again, a rather stupid assumption and no doubt the fault of fanciful fairytales and time altered truths, but still, Harry couldn’t help but be a wee-bit disappointed with what he had witnessed so far.

“He wants to ‘talk’ with me this afternoon, Henry! I haven’t done anything wrong, nothing to make him suspect, but somehow he knows! Uther can’t find out the truth—he can’t! He would watch me burn faster than you can say sorcerer…..” Morgana wrung her hands in a near hysterical state, “What am I going to do?” she asked the last quietly, barely louder than a whisper.

It was that last sentence, so tinged with despair, that had Harry answering her with a promise that he was not certain he could keep, “Don’t worry, I promise it will be okay. I will take care of it, promise.”

And even if his brother’s name hadn’t been among those that whispers of suspicion were now following, one look at Morgana’s terrified face, and Harry knew that he would do everything in his power to make his promise true.

No one should ever have to fear being themselves to such a degree. Uther had ruled this kingdom with fear for far too long.

That was going to change.

\---0---

Hearing the agitated voices from within caused Harry to pause. After his conversation with Morgana, his resolution to find a way to fix this had only strengthened—for even though he had already decided that he was going to monitor the situation and stop Merlin from coming to harm, he had not yet decided to actively intervene. That changed with Morgana.

He couldn’t help but feel drawn towards the young witch….it was not in a sexual manner, mind…but as though they were somehow connected. He felt for her, like he had come to feel for many of the females in his past life; Hermione, Luna, even Ginny….as a sister. He knew that he should be alarmed at the strength of his feelings for a girl he had known for not even a week, but as mentioned before, he had long ago learned to trust his instincts and magic, and both were telling him that he needed to protect the witch.

And if Morgana was worried enough to come straight to him, letting go of her infamous pride (or so he had been told—the castle staff liked to gossip and Harry had unusually good hearing. Ok, fine: he was nosey and had been using a lot of eaves dropping spells. Potatoes…patotoes) to ask for help; then the witch hunter that was coming, was bad news.

He hesitated for a second, wondering if he should really intrude on the conversation going on behind Gaius’s door…after all, he would have been pissed should someone eavesdrop on him. In the end, his natural curiosity won over any moral doubts he had, and he cast a quick enhancing charm on his ears.

(Parts of conversation taken from the episode: Witch finders—Merlin)

“How many times, Merlin?! How many times must I drive it into that thick skull of yours that your magic is a secret to be guarded with your life?! What were you thinking?!“ Gaius asked frustration and anger evident.

Well, there was that question answered at least. He had been pretty sure that Gaius knew magic and knew of Merlin’s magic, but he hadn’t been 100% sure. If nothing else, at least his eavesdropping eased that worry. And yes, he knew what Ron would say in light of Harry’s worrying—that the raven haired teen was far to forgiving. Then again, the red head never complained when it worked in his favor. Harry mentally shook his head and turned his attention back to the conversation going on—one day, (he hoped) his past life would stop haunting his mind.

He cursed softly when he realized that he had missed Merlin’s reply, if not more.

“You must hide the book. Anything that can connect you to sorcery in any way.” Gaius stressed sounding more urgent now, then angry.

“What? Now” Merlin asked incredulously. Harry couldn’t help but shake his head at his brother’s attitude. Did the idiot not realize just how much shit he was in? Harry couldn’t help but feel that Merlin was still very naïve in how the world worked—or at least he appeared to be.

Harry heard Gaius sigh in frustration, “Yes now Merlin. The man that Uther has sent for, I know him.”

Well, wasn’t that interesting? Harry pressed towards the door eager to hear more….he couldn’t help but wonder what kind of history Gaius had with the man that left him sounding so frightened. Because that was what he was, underneath his fretting and worrying—the man was scared.

“The Witchfinder?” Merlin clarified, making Harry want to roll his eyes. Duh…who else were they standing around talking about?

Gaius answered without really answering, and a few back and forth comments later, from which Harry did not learn a whole lot more, (well other then the fact that Gaius was very, very worried and Merlin not near enough—Harry wondered if difference between elderly physician’s worry and Merlin’s disregard of the situation, was due to experience and wisdom. Harry got the feeling that Merlin had not yet learned the limitations of what magic could do and fix. It sounded as Gaius had though) Harry drew back from the door and quickly moved in the opposite direction.

He needed a moment to sit down and think this through. He had several possible solutions he could employ (all magical) but he was not sure which, or if any, he should try. One thing he had learned over the years was that there was always a consequence when using magic—it might be miniscule or severe; one never knew until they had to pay it. That, and the fact that he still did not understand how his magic worked here, or for that matter, how other’s magic worked here. He had been led to believe (from conversations with Morgana) that it was very different then how his magic was—and again he wasn’t sure if that was the magic here itself or simply his magical education coming into play.

He felt like he was once again eleven years old and flying into dangerous situation by the seat of his pants. Wasn’t coming here suppose to rid him of his recklessness?—but no, that was not fair. It was not necessarily him being reckless by choice, so much as the situation forcing it.

Still he did not like it. Not one bit.

\--0—

Aredian would not say that he was an evil man, no, evil men were those who went against the good lord’s laws; those that lay with whores who were not their wives, those who slandered and said blasphemous words, and the worst of the worst; those that consorted with the devil. Because Aredian knew, without a doubt, that those men (and woman—but Aredian didn’t really count them because they were only women, and therefore sinful in their very nature) who practiced what they liked to call ‘magic,’ were Satan’s spawn.

It was his duty….no _right_ , to flush them out like the scourge that they were, and if he just so happened to make a few gold coins on the side while doing so, then all the better. He did not think that his Lord in heaven would begrudge him a few small comforts for doing his holy work.

Oh, he knew that people called some of his methods unsavory, or unjust---stated that he persecuted the innocent more often than the guilty, but in his mind it was all for the greater good.

After all, if a few innocents had to burn in order for people like Uther to keep their faith in his abilities, so that he could find those that truly were guilty of witchcraft, then so be it. What were a few innocent souls (who would no doubt be rewarded for their sacrifice by ascending to heaven) in the face of routing out true evil? And while Aredian knew that the reports of witchcraft (the frogs and boils and such things) were purely fictional (he knew this because he had been the one to convince that sad little man to sell the hallucinogenic make-up—just another point in how woman were inherently sinners, what with their vanity), he also knew that there was indeed magic being hidden in Camelot.

And he would be damned if he did not find and eliminate the source….or as his investigation was leading him to suspect; sources.

At the sound of knocking on his door (the door of his given chamber, which thanks to doing and saying exactly what Uther wanted, was rather fine and decadent) he quickly sat himself down behind the large imperial looking work desk, making sure to start diligently scratching away at the sheet in front of him (it was very important to appear hard working and paramount).

“Enter” he ordered not pausing in his act.

He had to stop himself from showing just how unnerved he was when he heard nothing from his expected guest as the boy moved through the room silently—it was only thanks to a carefully angled mirror on the corner of his desk that he knew that his visitor had entered at all. Yes, he was right to be suspicious of this one; not only was the boy a stranger (and therefore had few allies who would stick up for him should Aredian need to use him as a scapegoat. After all, if Aredian could not find the actual witch, he would still need to accuse someone to protect his reputation) but he was apparently related to the one that Aredian was truly suspicious of—Mervin, or whatever.

After all, Mervin had been present when the true bout of magic was actually witnessed and yet denied witnessing it at all. Not to mention after listening to rumors, the boy had no obvious skills that would have gained him his position as the prince’s manservant—at least not without trickery. And finally, the last strike for both of the boys was their ties to Gaius.

Gaius, who had escaped his accusations in the past thanks to his friendship with the king. Gaius, who had all but flaunted his magic for all to see and yet remained alive spreading his magical taint throughout Camelot. Oh yes, Gaius had escaped him long enough, and Aredian was determined to see him burn this time around—if he had to use a few servants to achieve it, well everyone had to make sacrifices.

And what were a few peasant souls when compared with the betterment of the kingdom? (not to mention the immeasurable wealth he was sure to receive when he uncovered the old witch doctor’s betrayal).

Sensing that enough time had passed to show that he was far more important than the one who was here at his request, Aredian set down his quill and gave a shark like smile to his visitor.

“Ah, thank you for meeting with me…..Henry was it?” Aredian asked dealing out the typical pleasant social necessities (although both he and the boy knew that there was nothing pleasant about them).

“It wasn’t really much of a choice on my part, now was it?” the waif like child replied—his calm, collected tone at complete odds with the belligerent reply.

Aredian had to stop himself from gaping at the child. How dare he?! Did the peasant not know _who_ he was? Did he not understand the immense power that Aredian had over him? The respect that he ought to show his betters?

.....maybe he was slow? Yes, that had to be it. Because no one in their right mind would speak to him with such disregard….hmmm, well while that would alter his plans slightly, it would also make them easier. After all, one who was not in complete control of their mental facilities would be easier to manipulate….

“Ah yes….well it is such a small sacrifice on one’s part to ensure the safety of Camelot and her king, wouldn’t you agree?” He replied while mentally trying to decide which direction he was going to take his interrogation in now. He just needed to get the boy to admit (accuse) that he had seen his brother and his ‘mentor’ practicing magic. It shouldn’t be so hard.

It was because of his mental focus that Aredian missed how Henry tensed at his statement about sacrifice. Of course had Aredian known his intended victim’s past with sacrifice and the good of many vs. the good of the individual, he might have realized he had touched on a touchy topic. Not that he would have cared. After all, Aredian had a very white and black view of the world—and in his fine opinion, all witches (or wizards) regardless of their actions, thoughts, or positions in society, deserved what they got at his and Uther’s hands.

“Ask you questions then, I have duties to carry out yet” Henry answered shortly. One might wonder why he was going out of his way to antagonize the man—after all making nice with him would have been the smarter, more Slytherin thing to do. But Harry was still for the most part a Gryffindor (or at least still harbored a few Gryffindorish traits at the very least). And while yes, he could be rather sneaky and cunning when he wanted, the direct approach would work better for his current aims.

He was aiming to piss the man off enough to not only take his focus off of Morgana and Merlin, but to reveal something in his anger. After all, Harry, while wary of the man, knew that when it came down to it—he could eliminate him. True he did not want to necessarily have to resort to such actions, but the knowledge that he could, and would, was enough for him not to fear his words and actions towards the fraud. Plus he hated prejudice…and this man just reeked of it.  

Aredian’s lips pursed at the boys tone, he did not appreciate the impertinence that this scrawny whelp was addressing him with but pushed it aside for now—he could always make the boy pay for it later. While he was not a patient man, he could be when the situation called for it. “Yes, well then, I have a few questions for you….you are aware of the incident that forced Uther to seek my services….yes?”

The whelp wrinkled his nose in disgust—or disagreement, shaking his head slightly, “I heard rumors but have to admit that I tend to steer clear of those, as they are often full of fallacy and bias….as I am sure one as learned and wise as yourself is aware?”

No he really, really did not like this boy.

“True, but that is not always the case. So you are saying that you were not aware of magic being performed and witnessed by a loyal subject of Camelot?” Aredian rephrased his question arching his eye brow in suspicion.

“Hmmm…..and here I had heard that the town gossipmonger, who is known to drink far too much most days of the week, thought she saw shapes in some fire smoke. But if you say magic was being practiced, then far be it for me to say otherwise” Harry retorted his tone solemn and severe.

Aredian was sure that the boy was mocking him but when he studied the face in front of him there was no trace of sarcasm or jest present.

“I have been doing this for longer then you have been alive, boy. I can tell drunken hallucinations from the real thing. And this, here, was the real thing” Aredian felt the need to defend, annoyed by the fact that he did.

“Ah well….of course. But to answer your question, no, I was only privileged to the court gossip of the incident. Though I am fairly new here and therefore have not had time to develop such _skilled_ abilities as yourself. I therefore cannot be expected to know the difference between rumors and the real thing” Harry clarified with a shrug.

“And that brings me to my next set of questions…. the king has informed me that you were the one who found _Lady_ Morgana and ensured her safe return?” Aredian stated, sneering slightly at Morgana’s formal address. In his opinion, women had no place in court or in positions higher than their naturally superior counterparts; the bedroom and kitchen were the only places for them.

“Yes, that is correct. I came across her injured in the woods” Harry agreed easily enough, though his posture tightened slightly as though sensing where this conversation was headed.

“Hmmm…..I see. And tell me Mr. Emrys, where were you up until you saved Lady Morgana? What exactly were you doing in the woods to begin with? It strikes me as odd that you show up, and suddenly Camelot is besieged with the devil’s signs”

“Oh, well I could same the same for you _Mr_. Aredian, after all these so called devil’s signs showed up around the time you came to Camelot as well. So unless you are suggesting that you are the one responsible for them, then I fail to see you’re reasoning” Harry replied back looking for all the world calm and collected. He smirked in his mind when he saw his stress on the man’s lack of knighthood or noble blood caused him to twitch—after years of dealing with people like Malfoy, this man’s buttons were disappointingly easy to push.

Aredian could feel his blood pressure soaring the longer he subjected himself to this ignorant child. How dare he? How dare he suggest that he, Aredian, had anything to do with witchcraft outside of finding and eliminating it!? Oh he would make this boy pay for such a comment. No one, absolutely no one got away with such disrespect....

A rather evil smirk came to his face as the idea of just how to get back at the whelp entered his mind. While sure, the easiest way would be to accuse Henry of being the witch and watch him burn…. it was to merciful and short for Aredian’s tastes. He recalled hearing (although he cannot quite recall the source…the boy was right about one thing, the court’s gossip was rampant and admittedly unreliable) that this boy had family here in Camelot. In fact, if he was not wrong, (which he seldom was) he was almost certain that it was the boy’s brother who was present when the smoke magic was witnessed.

Aredian had been doing this job for long enough to know that if you wanted to cause someone pain, true pain, then you did not go after them but those they cared about. In other words; their family.

It was rather ingenious of him really. He had already been planning on going after the Mervin boy, (if only to catch Gaius)—knowing that it would cause Henry pain was really just a bonus. Not to mention with an accused and found guilty (because anyone he accused was _always_ found guilty) witch in the family, Henry would become a social outcast and subjected to countless rumors and suspicions. It would be easy down the road (once the boy had suffered long enough) to come back and accuse Henry of having followed the same path as his brother. Yes, as far as revenge plans went…this was a good one.

“Hnn. Just one more question before you go, the prince’s manservant….he is related to you?” Aredian asked doing his best to make the question appear harmless and innocent.

His attempt apparently failed as the boy’s eyes narrowed slightly, his suspicion evident, “yes” he answered succinctly.

Aredian hid his annoyance at not getting more information with a satisfied (and somewhat predatory) smile, “Thank you for your time Mr. Emrys. You may go….if you happen to see Mervin, do tell him that I would like a chat, yes?”

He watched with smug satisfaction, taking a long drink from his wine goblet, as the boy was forced to nod his agreement before hightailing it out of the room.

Ah it was good to be him he thought, sure that his plans would unfold unhindered as always. And if his wine tasted a little off….well, it was surely just a coincidence.

\--0----

For not the first time, Harry was decidedly glad that he had lost at least some of his Gryffindor attitude, adopting more of a Ravenclaw/Slytherin mix since his meeting with the Goblins. Had he been the quintessential Gryffindor like he once was, he likely would have decked Aredian in the face… after cursing him to look like a little girl of course.

If he had not forced himself to study like he was Hermione during NEWTS, OWLS and CATS (Crazy Awful & Trying Seminary—the equivalent to muggle university entrance requirements) all combined into one, then he would not have had the potion or magical knowledge to not only have made the necessary brew, but to be carrying it with him when it was needed.

Needed for what? One might ask, and just what kind of brew? Well, in Harry’s not so humble admittance, one of his and Severus’s (although perhaps he should say the half blood prince-- since the actual man would never have lifted a finger to help him, much less work with him. The potions book with said man’s knowledge however had _nooo_ such problem) creations.

It worked along the lines of Veritaserum—although it lasted far longer and was not nearly as potent or foolproof. While it did not guarantee that the consumer would tell the truth exactly how it was, it certainly compelled them to be far more honest with their opinions and behavior. And if Harry was right (which he—again not so humbly—tended to be), Aredian was a man whose motivations were far from pure.

True, working for a man like Uther this was not all that surprising; however, while Uther was all kinds of backwards and ignorant, he would not abide such behavior should the behavior be against him and his. And if the rather full gold satchel attached to the witch hunter’s belt was telling, Aredian was hunting ‘sorcerers’ for no small amount of monetary gain. Gold, that had most likely come from the person employing him to hunt them—should he prove to be a quack, well it was only logical that said employer would be rather angered at having forked over such riches to a charlatan and scam man. Perhaps angry enough to see said charlatan’s head roll….

Harry couldn’t even find it in himself to feel guilty at his part in the man’s most likely future death. After all the man had sentenced countless others (both muggles and Magic) to the same fate—just desserts and all that.

Standing in front of Uther (although thankfully not alone, but lost in the crowd of other, far more important courtesans and serving staff) Harry felt his disgust for both men swell when Aredian boastfully announced that Merlin was the magic user. As much as he and Merlin were at odds (ok, so Merlin was at odds with him rather then it being mutual…but details) he did not want to see his brother burned for something he was born with—it would after all, make him something of a hypocrite. He knew that he would have to act fast to expose Aredian for what he really was if he hoped to save Merlin from his execution.

He would have laughed at Arthur’s adamant denials that Merlin was a sorcerer had the situation not been so dire. It was with no small amount of urgency that Harry ducked out of the court room to make his way hastily towards Gaius and Merlin’s chambers—doing so upon hearing Aredian state that he could prove that Merlin was a sorcerer by searching Gaius’s chambers and revealing the magical tools within.

Thankful for every second that rounding up the appropriate number of trusted guards would take Aredian and Uther, Harry took a chance and apparated straight into Gaius’s rooms. He did not bother wasting time worrying about getting caught in the act as he hastily summoned any object that held a trace of ‘supernatural’ energy to him and tossed them into his cloak. It felt like a century (although Harry knew it was likely a few minutes) before he was sure he had everything.

Heart pounding with the knowledge that the guards would be here at any moment, Harry ducked out of the room and quickly moved into the shadowed corner to the right, sensing with his magic that it connected to a hallway. He had no idea where the hall led, but he could tell that at least it led away from here.

The door shut behind him with a soft click, and not a moment too soon as he heard the sound of multiple boots on stone as the guards and whoever else was ‘honored’ enough to be present, approaching the now unoccupied Physician rooms. He would have liked to stick around to witness Aredian’s face when he discovered that the magical objects (that Harry was pretty sure the man had placed to ensure a guilty verdict) where no longer there, but alas, his plan was not yet complete.

No, it would not be finished until Uther was conveniently led to believe that Aredian had been conning him—and of course the subsequent discovery of illegal magical objects and hallucinogen in the man’s rooms.

Aredian was not the only one who could frame someone after all…..now he had a blabbermouth kitchen had to find.

‘Rumors were such nasty things’ he thought with a smirk.  

\--0---

Gaius barely managed to hide his own incredulity, much less keep Merlin’s surprise (the boy had a rather easy to read face) when Uther’s guards overturned the entire room without finding so much as a fortune bead.

He couldn’t believe it! He actually could not believe that Merlin had listened to him and had gotten rid of (hidden) all of the magically related paraphernalia. Though judging by Merlin’s initial crestfallen and dread riddled face when the King announced that Gaius’s chambers were to be searched, coupled with his surprised and relieved one now…..Merlin hadn’t been the one to do so.

It left Gaius feeling a small amount of unease. Someone—either had the foresight, or had been told that the witch finder was going to accuse Merlin and Uther was going to order a search, and had decided to help them for some unknown reason. Gaius had not lived this long to not know that people did not do anything for free. He couldn’t help but wonder if the price would be worth it.

Oh no! don’t call him unfeeling or cold…. _any_ price would have been worth Merlin’s life, except that it would not have come to the young wizards life, not if Gaius had a say in it. If they had found evidence (which Gaius had been sure they would—after all, anyone accused by Aredian always had evidence unearthed against them) then Gaius had been prepared to take the fall. After all; both he and Aredian know what this was really about. Revenge.

Aredian did not like failure—and that was what Gaius had represented to him. Gaius was the one that got away so to speak. He had been accused by the witch finder when they were both still quite young, but he, unlike all the rest, had managed to talk Uther out of his own execution…something that no one had managed since. Something, that while he was ever thankful that he was in fact alive, he had to wonder if it had been a mistake. He couldn’t help but suspect that his narrow escape from the pier was what triggered Aredian’s almost obsessive need to accuse others of witch craft and see them burn. In a sense it was his own arraignment that had created the monster the man was today.

Gaius sighed and shook his head to rid himself of such thoughts—thoughts that only ever led to him feeling the weight of guilt and responsibility that, while in part might be his to bare, were not truly—or at least, completely so. Logically he knew the monster had always been there, and that if his own circumstances had not triggered its appearance, something else would have.

Watching the guard leave the room with a visibly snarling witch hunter, Gaius allowed himself a small measure of satisfaction. Perhaps the price they would pay would not be so bad—even so, seeing that rage in Aredian’s eyes at being thwarted once again, made almost any price asked acceptable.

(A day later)

After the dramatic accusations the previous day, work settled down into its usual hull-drum; maids cleaned, cooks cooked, Gaius brewed and diagnosed—his new helper fetched herbs and leant a hand (Gaius had to admit the new boy, Henry, had far more talent in the healing arts then his previous assistant had—that and the boy was definitely less clumsy, saving Gaius from having to constantly save and remake his medications or waste time cleaning up broken pestles), and Merlin ran after Arthur. All was usual.

Except that it wasn’t.

Gaius couldn’t help but feel like there was something slightly off about his assistant. He had sensed it when the boy first started to help him, but it had been barely there and easy to dismiss. Now though… well ever since Aredian’s interview with the teen, the feeling of offness (because Gaius really couldn’t think of another way to describe the almost hyper alert, staticky feeling that made him want to simultaneously draw closer to the child and get as far away as possible) had increased.

Still, he didn’t know Henry well enough to broach the subject and state his suspicions, (the boy _was_ Merlin’s half brother—that he had magic would not have been that big of surprise) so decided it was just another thing that he had better keep his tired old eyes on.

It was not the only thing that did not fall within the usual however.

There were certain rumors circling the citadel corridors and lower town like a wild brush fire. This in itself was not unusual—after all Camelot was almost as famous for its gossips as it was for its knights (there was a fierce debate on which of the groups was actually more powerful, although in Gaius’s opinion the knights were seriously deluding themselves). But the fact that the rumors were covertly whispered, an extra bout of caution surrounding the telling of them was unusual; that, and the fact that they were all concerning a certain witch hunter; a certain witch hunter, who, if rumors were to be believed, had been witnessed practicing all sorts of forbidden magic.

According to many sources, Aredian had been spotted conjuring anything from toads to demon mice. The easily flustered washing girl, swore that Bobby the stable boy, had been told by Kendrick the black smith, by Kathreen the baker, that she had seen Aredian sacrificing a young virgin maid by the light of the full moon (which was obviously false, as this was Aredian they were talking about, Gaius doubted that any of the maids were still virgins, and there had been no full moon for weeks)—it was really only one of numerous outlandish ‘sightings’ being claimed.

And when the court was called to session late that afternoon, Gaius instinctively knew what was going to happen before it did: or, at least he thought he did. Apparently, being old and wise did not mean one was still not taken by surprise from time to time.

He had expected the king to dismiss the rumors and carry on with his witch hunts and even when the King caved to the mounting pressure, (caused by upset civilians) and had ordered his guards to search Aredian’s rooms, (something Gaius had figured they would do-- find nothing, and then resume as per usual) he hadn’t expected the events to unravel they way that they did.

Unraveling in the manner that meant several dozen magical items having been found hidden around Aredian’s bedchambers.

Unraveling in the manner that meant several hallucinogenic potions were discovered.

Unraveling in the manner that meant; Aredian suddenly coming clean about having drugged certain women with said potions in the past to make them ‘witness magic,’ before framing his chosen citizen with the magical items. Things, that he admitted to rather easily all things considered, when Uther questioned him on the items.

Yes, Gaius had not expected any of the above to take place, and despite the uneasy feeling growing (Because things just fell into to place a little _too_ easily. He couldn’t help but think that actual magic-- though magic unlike anything he had witnessed before—had been used to make them happen) he wasn’t able to smother his relieved and justified (ok, vindictive) feelings at seeing Aredian finally unmasked.

Even the rather light sentence handed down to the fraud was not enough to derail his good mood (although it was rather hypocritical that Aredian had only been sentenced to ten years in prison, when most of his victims—many innocent, had been burned alive. But Uther being Uther, Gaius had to count it as a win. At least the man was punished—though likely it was more because Uther hated being made a fool of, then because of the lives lost by the man’s actions and words).

Still, he was not completely caught up in this sudden boon. He had taken the time to warn Merlin that he suspected another magic user’s intervention. That and asking a few subtle questions regarding Henry…. after all, if Henry did turn out to have been the sorcerer who had a hand in this, maybe the boys would have something they could bond over.

Merlin needed more confidants then one old, tired, man. That and if it truly was Henry’s work that had unveiled Aredian, then the boy was powerful. Far more powerful than any magic user Gaius had ever seen—and practicing magic that Gaius had not known was possible.

Someone that powerful was worth keeping an eye on. After all, if they turned out not to be a powerful ally and friend—then they made for a dangerous and formidable enemy.

But Gaius shook the last thought off—he was being silly. Surely a child so young and innocent looking could not truly be such a threat?

He was just being a paranoid old man…that was all.

\--0---

When Garth came to replace the night shift guarding the fallen-from-grace witch finder, a rather unmanly scream was forced from his throat.

A crimson pool surrounded the body of the disgraced man, the man in question eyes staring open and unseeingly up at the cell roof.

When later investigated the death would be wrote off as a suicide, although no weapon would be found. Not that it was all that surprising, as the small stone carved with one word, placed underneath the man’s inert body, was also missed.

That one word read: justice.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note:
> 
> Chapter title: Taken from the nursery rhyme ‘I do not like thee, Docter Fell’ which goes along the lines of:
> 
> I do not like thee, Doctor Fell
> 
> The reason why; I cannot tell
> 
> But this I know; and I know well
> 
> I do not like thee, Doctor Fell
> 
> **All views expressed in regards to religion, dogma or personal perception are fictional for the purpose of the story and not necessarily shared by the author! So if expressed views of said characters offend, well I apologize, but suggest you stop reading fiction! ;)


	8. Frog-Went-A-Courting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Arthur disagree, and work through a few differences. Gwen starts to notice a few things and Morgana grows restless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings all! Sooo here is the next chapter (it is also pretty long), I don't think I did too horribly bad in the amount of time it took me to write and read over? Anyhow, thanks for all the reviews, comments, questions that the last chapter garnered; hope that this one is just as well recieved. Also, this chapter does not follow a specific episode as the last one did but serves as what occurs between episode seven, the witchfinder and episode 8, The sins of the Father.
> 
> READ and REVIEW! oh and enjoy I suppose ;)

 

* * *

 

_“Even as your body betrays you, your mind denies it.” ―_ [ _Sara Gruen_ ](http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/24556.Sara_Gruen) _,_ [ _Water for Elephants_ ](http://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/3441236)

* * *

 

Arthur found himself oddly excited to be heading towards Gaius’s chambers in search of a certain green eyed apprentice. Odd, because he was headed that way largely due to the slow, but steadily bleeding wound that was making it rather difficult to walk without grimacing.

He couldn’t believe that he had been so careless as to allow himself to be injured by one of the druids he and his men had been responsible for rounding up. Somehow, one of the frail, but deceptively strong older women of the group, had managed to cause his own weapon to miss its target (one of the men that he had been pursing and later fighting) stabbing into his own calf instead. As a result of his momentary distraction and the resulting injury, the group had escaped; vanishing into the vine and smog ridden cliffs. Leaving nary a trail for Arthur and his men to follow.

Yes, if anything, the way she manipulated him into stabbing himself only proved Uther correct when he said magic was dangerous and to be feared. Who knew what one could do with it if they could cause what was akin to mind control at a moment notice?

Still, despite his steadily worsening injury, Arthur was feeling rather more excited then he would normally given his destination and cause. It had nothing….absolutely nothing to do with Henry….(and when had he started referring to the apprentice by his first name??)

Sighing internally, Arthur decided that it really wasn’t all that important at the moment. After all, if he could refer to Merlin as a sort-of-friend, then why should he not be able to feel the same for his man-servant’s half-brother? Exactly, there was no reason why he should not, or could not. And perhaps he was ignoring the fact that how he felt for Merlin’s brother was definitely not the same thing that he felt for Merlin. Yes, denial was a lovely thing, and Prince Arthur was very, very good at it.

Gaius’s door swung open before Arthur even had a chance to knock, revealing just the person he was looking for—though said person looked surprised to see him and appeared to be on his way out.

“Prince Arthur!” Henry cried in greeting, “you are back? I thought you said you would be gone until the end of the week?”

Arthur winced slightly—he had indeed said that he would be gone until Saturday, and had meant to be….his injury and the druid’s unplanned escape had changed such plans however. “Er….things didn’t exactly turn out the way they were supposed to…” he trailed off, gesturing towards the blood soaked bandage that had been wrapped rudimentarily around the stab wound.

“Shit! What the hell happened to you?” Henry asked as he took in the injury, before promptly turning scarlet when he realize just what he had said, and how he had addressed Arthur, “um…..right, well come in. Gaius is not here at the moment but I should be able to at least have a look at it and stop the worst of the bleeding. Though who knows how infected it is already…wrapped in that disgusting rag” he moved out of the doorway to allow Arthur entrance.

Arthur could not help but be secretly amused at how much Henry’s mouth resembled Merlin’s at times. It was like the habit for disrespecting royalty and speaking above their station was genetic or something. And while at the start (when he had just met Merlin) it had annoyed the prince greatly, overtime he had grown used to it….and almost fond(?) of the obliviousness to rules that it showed. Not to mention, it was rather refreshing to be spoken to without all the cow-toeing and ass-kissing (not that he would ever, EVER tell Merlin this).

Henry continued to mutter admonishments under his breath (and Arthur was pretty sure there was some tongue clicking involved) as he all but pushed Arthur to sit down on the previously vacant patient bed and set to unwrapping the bloody bandage.

Arthur let out a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding when Henry let go of his leg and moved across the room to fill up a basin of warm water, grabbing herbs of various types and quantities as he went. What the hell was wrong with him?!? He was honestly starting to get concerned about his mental…and by association, physical health. His body should not be reacting the way it was to Henry’s ministrations. Arthur had to think about Geoffry reading his beloved books naked to get rid of the problem his body seemed insistent on causing.

Now more than ever he was convinced that there was something decidedly wrong with him….not that he was sure what he should, or could do about it. After all, it was obviously something that a physician should deal with, but he could not bear the embarrassment or shame of bringing forth such an issue with Gaius, or even worse, Henry. His mind cringed at the thought of discussing such a thing with the very cause of the problem----no, definitely not going to happen!

“Relax please your highness….I can’t properly clean the wound if you are tensed up like that” Henry’s voice interrupted his panicking.

Arthur’s gaze shot up to where Henry stood holding a sponge and basin, patiently waiting for Arthur to do as he said. Oh….oh no, not good. Not good at all…..Henry’s hands there….yeah that thought was not going to help with the problem he had just gotten rid of!

Okay, he needed to calm down and think about something else. There was no reason why his body should betray him like this….no reason at all. It was mind over matter. So…so…he needed to distract himself! Yes! That was it! Distraction…..

What could he distract himself with? Perhaps if he talked to Henry about the mission and what had gone wrong? Yes….that should do it. There was absolutely nothing pleasurable about failing so spectacularly after all….

“I still can’t believe they got away” Arthur muttered under his breath, though in truth it was said more as a distraction for himself then any being any real attempt at conversation.

“Who got away? I am assuming you are talking about whoever gave you this lovely gash? Lucky really a few inches higher and it would have hit your artery…..you are lucky or even Gaius’s expertise would not have been able to save you from bleeding to death” the green eyed apprentice stated, though Arthur could practically hear the disapproval dripping from his voice.

“It was the druids. Every task to do with them ends up this way….if anything it proves that my father is right and that they are using magic. How else can you explain a few children, woman and an armful of men—all who have never held a sword in their life, being able to defeat a battalion of Camelot’s best knights? It has to be magic…..” Arthur scowled still smarting over his mistake, all while trying to come up with something that Uther would accept as to why they failed. Really, he could practically feel his father’s disdain from here….maybe he could convince Henry to exaggerate his wounds and allow him to hide out in Gaius’s rooms a little longer before he would be faced to face his father? It could work…..

Though finally looking—truly looking—at Henry’s face he was not sure that staying here with the apparently angry apprentice was the better option.

“What? Why are you glaring like Merlin when I tell him to re-shine the armor?” Arthur finally asked when he could take the tense silence no longer. He had no idea what he had said to make Henry look that way. Perhaps he had a mental affliction? Arthur vaguely recalled hearing about some such condition which made its victims switch moods rapidly and without apparent reason….though if he remembered correctly it was generally only women who were affected and for a length of nine or so months…..

“Do you want me to give you the real answer or the answer that you want?” Henry finally responded with his own question.

“The real one of course” Arthur stated looking at the boy as though he had lost any sanity that he might have once possessed.

“I doubt very much that you are going to like my answer….” Henry hedged again pressing rather hard on the now mostly cleaned wound making Arthur hiss. Arthur could swear he was doing it on purpose.

“the real one” Arthur repeated stubbornly.

“Fine. I did warn you though….I’m wondering why you seem to be blaming the druids?”

“What?” Arthur asked truly confused by the question, “What are you talking about? Of course I blame them….they _are_ after all, why I got injured, not to mention a number of my men….”

Henry gave him a long, hard look before moving back towards the bowl and wringing out the cloth he had been using, picking up a fresh bandage instead. “I am just wondering what exactly you expected them to do when faced with, as you said, a large group of highly trained killers carrying weapons and ill intent towards them and theirs?” Henry asked in a deceptively mild voice. He moved back towards Arthur and started to wrap his leg before continuing, “were you expecting them to lie down and come peacefully to what was most likely their death? To stand back and watch as you torched their homes, tortured their sons and burned their daughters? If it were you who was faced with such a situation, would you have done nothing? Not have defended yourself…regardless of the means?”

Arthur was shocked by Henry’s words. It almost sounded as though he was defending the druids, saying that it was Arthur and his men who were in the wrong, not the magic practitioners! But…but that could not be…..Arthur felt an odd sense of peace around the boy…. surely he was not a traitor to Camelot….but how much about Merlin’s half brother did he really know? After all, all he _really_ knew about the boy was that Merlin refused to associate with him….maybe this was the reason? Merlin was loyal to a fault after all, maybe he knew his brother practiced magic or was a magic sympathizer and refused to have anything to do with him? But, then again, Merlin would have told Arthur something so serious…..so he had to be wrong. He was just overreacting…that was all. No need to start throwing around accusations, it would only get innocent people hurt after all…..

Though if Arthur really stopped to think about it, Henry’s words did not sound so evil…..they did make sense in a way. Well, if you took magic out of the equation…..magic after all seemed to change everything. It might seem like a good, helpful thing to start with….but it tarnished and corroded until there was nothing left but evil. Uther had told Arthur enough stories, and Arthur had witnessed it time and again with his own eyes….

No, Henry simply did not understand that was all.

“No, it’s not like that….you don’t understand what magic can do…what it does to a person. I have seen it. Over and over again, it turns good men and women into things that are barely recognizable…” Arthur refuted with conviction. It was a conviction that had been years in the making—even if at times he still had doubts about his father’s campaign, those doubts were fleeting at most.

“Hmmm….perhaps….” Henry answered though his face and tone stated quite clearly that he was not swayed in the least.

“What? You might as well say whatever it is that you are holding back. After all, if I wanted to harm you, you have already said more than enough for me to do so. I am not yet screaming for the guards so you might as well say whatever it is” Arthur said, though even as he was saying it, he was questioning his sanity. Why wasn’t he calling for the guards? Was he afraid of what Henry might do to him before they got here?—no, that was ridiculous. The apprentice was much shorter and weighed at least two stones less than him...even if he did practice magic he would have trouble incapacitating Arthur before he could raise the alarm.

No, oddly enough, the reason Arthur was not screaming for the guards, was because he trusted Henry not to harm him or to be what Arthur would call evil. As weird as it was to trust a relatively unknown stranger…Arthur couldn’t help it. He just did.

Henry hesitated for a brief moment then seemed to make a decision, squaring his shoulders, “it’s just that I came from a neighboring kingdom where magic was not outlawed and people practiced freely….as far as I know, they did not have the problems with magic and violence that Camelot seems to. It is just curious as to why a kingdom such as Camelot, a place that persecutes and routinely executes magic users to protect its citizens, is one of the only places that encounters such issues…is it not?”

Arthur found he was unsure how to answer such a question. He had never really stopped to ask questions like that or think about magic in relation to other kingdoms. He wasn’t sure what to make of it….after all, it was many things….and curious was one of them.

\--oo—

“Hello Gwen, how are you doing today? I have the ulcer elixir for you. I made this batch, so it might be a little different than the one that Gaius usually makes you… though it should be just as effective….if it’s not, please let me know” Henry greeted Gwen while handing over a beaker of pale green liquid.

Gwen dutifully took the solution, although couldn’t quite stop the slightly doubtful glance at the changed medication that she normally received every week. Still, she smiled and thanked Henry, watching him give her a quick playful one in return before retreating from where he had come across her in the kitchen, just finishing ironing the last of Morgana’s kirtles*.

She was trying….she really was.

She knew that rationally she had no reason or cause to feel the growing resentment that she felt towards the pixie like boy. He had been nothing but kind, courteous and charming towards her and the rest of the castle staff (in fact, she was pretty sure that most, if not all, the other serving girls and probably half of the boys, had convinced themselves that they were in love with the newcomer) and yet the festering feeling continued to grow.

And if she were to be truthful, she did know why…not that she would willingly admit the reason to anyone else, much less herself. It just seemed a tad bit coincidental that her anger and dislike of Henry had appeared right around the time that the prince took notice in the green eyed apprentice. Yes, it was perhaps not the most original or reasonable reason to not like someone, but then again, when did jealousy ever make sense?

The thing was, Gwen usually considered herself to be a centered, kind and giving person; someone who would not turn their nose up at others in need, who would not fall in the dangerous pitfall known as court gossip and trouble brewing. She was sensible, collected and independent. So the fact that she was apparently so caught up in her infatuation with Prince Arthur, that it was turning her petty and cruel would not have sat well with her, had she recognized that fact. But as with most people who find themselves under the obsessive powers of unrequited love, she did not.

Ever since Lady Morgana had come back with Henry in tow _she_ , no… t _hings,_ had been different (for although it was true that the Lady was indeed very different—more sullen and brooding, darker really—it was not just she who had shown signs of change). Though to be fair to her mistress; Lady Morgana’s temperament and patience had been changing slowly, but surely, over the past year…not that Gwen could really blame her-- after all, she was sure that she too would have changed if she suffered the terrible nightmares that her Mistress did. But still, changing she was. The only time that Gwen really caught sight of the carefree, happy girl that Morgana had once been, was when she was around the physician’s apprentice.

It stung to know that he could bring out that side in her when everything that Gwen had tried had failed. But still, it was not until Prince Arthur had started seeking out the boy that Gwen’s irritation at Henry had truly emerged. Oh, she knew—or at least was pretty sure—that neither Henry nor Arthur recognized it for what it was. But Gwen knew better….it was clear to anyone who actually took the time to regard the two when they interacted; the way that Arthur’s smile would widen just a smidge at the sight of Henry, or how Henry would go above and beyond in any small task that Arthur asked of him (of course others would just say that the latter was because it was the prince, but somehow Gwen did not think that was the case).

The real tell was the look in Prince Arthur’s eyes when he would glance surreptitiously over at the apprentice—she knew, because it was the same way that she looked at Arthur when she thought it was safe to.

Yes, it bothered her far more then she wanted to admit.

Not that those small clues were the only things to lead Gwen to her rather unhappy conclusion, no there were others, like the fact that suddenly Arthur did not seek her out in his free time. He no longer came by with flimsy excuses of needing something stitched and not trusting the other maidens to do so, or with quickly thought up questions about Merlin, which only she, as Merlin’s friend, could answer. No, since the arrival of Henry—all of the Prince’s free time had been spent making those flimsy excuses to Henry, not her. And she did not like it.

And perhaps that was the reason that she had said what she did to Merlin. After all, he was the only other person (besides Uther—and well, Gwen was not exactly going to go to Uther) who did not seem to worship the ground that Henry walked on. She had always hated gossips in the past and yet found herself unable to not do the very thing she so hated when it came to Henry.

She couldn’t help but carefully question Merlin about his half brother…gearing most of the questions to where exactly the boy had been before his arrival in Camelot. And if some of her jealousy and resentment had leaked out in the form of suspicion over the royal’s sudden kinship with the boy, well, it hadn’t been on purpose. It had just slipped out.

If Merlin’s interest seemed to peak at her ill concealed implications….well, it was just innocent enquiries.

After all, what possible harm could a bit of curiosity have?

\--oo—

Arthur found himself about to do something that he had never found himself doing before; apologizing.

Alright, so perhaps apologizing was too strong of a word for what he was about (he hoped) to do, but it did fall somewhere within that definition. It was strange, while Arthur had done some rather horrible and unforgivable things in the past, he had never once felt the overwhelming need to find the person they were done to and set things right---not like he did now. That in itself was alarming.

After the rather awkward conversation (reprimand/scolding) Arthur had received from Henry, the prince had left rather hastily and….perhaps (not that he was going to come out and admit it) a tad rudely. Really though, it wasn’t exactly his fault, after all, he was a prince and was not used to people disagreeing with him or outright disapproving his actions and words (outside of Uther of course, but seems Uther was the king and had yet to find something that he actually approved of when it came to his only son, Arthur did not really count his long standing disdain).

Arthur had avoided Gaius’s assistant for the past three days and had finally come to the inevitable conclusion that he did not _want_ to continue doing so. As weird as it was, (considering he had only known Henry for a short time) Arthur found himself missing the green eyed boy—both his dry, sarcastic humor, his conflicting confidant and endearingly shy personalities (he found the fact that Henry could go from a posed, confidant—almost cocky man, to a fumbling, embarrassed and shy one in a split second fascinating. It shouldn’t have worked, but somehow when it came to the slim teen it did)and his thought provoking intelligence. Yes, if Arthur was not so set in his denial, he would recognize the fact that he was falling for one Henry Emrys—and fast.

He had not allowed himself to acknowledge this fact as of yet, but he had been forced to recognize that he had acted atrociously towards the other boy (especially since it had been him to demand Henry’s honest opinion in the first place) and that should he want to continue developing their odd ‘friendship’, that he would need to hunt the other boy down and make amends. It sounded far easier then it was turning out to be however—and not just because Arthur was not entirely sure he would be able to force the words ‘I am sorry’ out of his mouth. No, Henry it would appear was very good at remaining unfound when he wanted to be.

It had gone past being grudgingly admire-some to downright irritating.

When Prince Arthur finally found his elusive target, he almost wished he hadn’t….or at least that was what he tried to tell himself as he swallowed finding his throat suddenly very, very dry. He hadn’t actually even been looking for Henry when he finally stumbled across the boy half naked, or at least he thought it was half (his body might be incapable of controlling itself, but his mind was not! He refused to let his gaze wander any lower than the surprisingly toned and very scarred chest of the swimming apprentice).

He was rather surprised that he had found Henry swimming in a little known lake several miles from town. In all the years that Arthur had been coming to this very place _,_ precisely _because_ hardly anyone knew about it, he had never stumbled across another soul. Instead of wasting valuable time pondering on just how a virtual stranger to Camelot had come across his sanctuary, when many other, far more knowledgeable in Camelot and her surrounding areas had failed, Arthur just summed it up to being just another anomaly that made up the enigma that was Henry Emrys.

It was only after Arthur had finally managed to drag his uncooperative eyes (and brain) away from the rather tantalizing sight, that Arthur truly comprehended the information presented by such a vision. As he had mentioned before, Henry was surprisingly fit and _scarred_ for a simple civilian; Arthur could not help but feel his curiosity peak.

He moved further into the clearing, not bothering to hide his approach with his usual stealth until he was visible to Henry from where he was standing half emerged in the lakes cool waters, staring absentmindedly down at its surface.

Henry’s head snapped up to where he was standing, surprise lighting briefly in emerald eyes. “Prince Arthur” he stated in way of greeting, his tone deferential for once.

Arthur almost flinched. It would appear his actions and words earlier in the week had, had more of an effect on their slowly, but until then steadily, developing relationship then he had thought. Internally he sighed but shored himself up to do the one thing that he had sworn he would never do.

“Henry…..” he trailed off taking a deep breath before soldiering on, “I have been looking for you….”

“Oh? Did you need something? Gaius gave me the afternoon off, but if he is unavailable?” Henry asked tone polite but Arthur could sense a defensive edge to his words that had not been present before between them.

“No, no….I uh….” Arthur denied quickly, searching for what he wanted to say, before shaking his head in irritation as he tried again, “look Henry, I..I wanted to apologize. For my words. Earlier.” He finally managed to ground out. Seeing Henry’s neutral and unreadable expression he forced himself to continue, “and my actions, it was ~~beneath~~ …wrong of me to act that way after asking you to tell me your true opinion. I have to admit that your frankness came as a surprise, and I admit that I did not react as I should have. For that I am sorry….”

Henry stayed silent for a long moment simply staring back at him, as though studying the sincerity in his words, “did you think about what I said?” he finally asked sounding mainly curious.

Well, wasn’t that the question of the day.

Arthur wondered briefly if he should tell Henry the truth or lie. Eventually he settled on the truth. “I have….” He paused “ and while I admit that some of the things you said did make sense….I just can’t see magic as something that is alright to use….” He trailed off, but hastily added as he saw the corners of Henry’s mouth turn down slightly at his statement, “but I am willing to try and judge on a case to case basis…or at least consider the reasons behind certain actions and reactions.”

And it was true. While Arthur still could not wrap his head around there being a good reason to use magic (because while the druids did only use it to defend themselves, what would happen should one of the druids decide to take and use such a power for something beyond defense?) he was willing to at least stop and question why it was being used and for what, when he came across magic users. He was still undecided on whether someone should be arrested for simply possessing the ability or not. To be fair, it was something that he had always been a bit hesitant to agree with Uther on.

After all, how could a small child be evil and capable of the horrors that Uther swore magic users were? Yet, that being said Arthur had still not seen magic being used for good. He therefore, was not sure where he stood on the matter.

But as he told Henry, he would be willing to at least consider the reasons for those caught using it, before burning them on the stakes…and in the off chance that he did find a sorcerer who used their magic only for good….well, perhaps he could find leniency for them when he was king. Still, it was a long ways off before he had to make a decision on the matter. His father would be king for many years to come yet.

“Ok” Henry answered appearing to accept Arthur’s statement at face value. Apparently it was enough for the apprentice that the prince was even willing to stop and consider another opinion that was not his own.

That solved, Arthur felt his own curiosity creeping up on him once more. Just why was the boy standing in front of him—the boy who had supposedly been largely a merchants son-- covered in what looked like battle scars?**

“What is it?” Henry asked, sounding overly resigned.

Arthur fought down the sudden flush of embarrassment and slightly guilty feeling he had over where his current and previous thoughts had been (while his previous thoughts were much different than his current ones, they both concerned Henry, and were both rather intrusive…just in different ways). Still, Arthur had never been one to let something go—especially when it had caught his interest.

“Where did you get all of those scars from?.....they look like the battle wounds of a soldier”

Ok, so he also wasn’t the most subtle at satisfying his curiosity. He almost felt bad as he watched Henry flush with embarrassment (?) at the question and shift looking thoroughly uncomfortable under Arthur’s scrutinizing gaze.

He seemed to pause as though searching for a way to answer Arthur’s question, though Arthur quickly dismissed such suspicions as being overly paranoid when he did finally answer. “In the village I grew up in, it was quite common for boys over the age of five to train and fight each other and those older in mock battles. It was considered an honor to be adept at hand to hand combat…plus….” Henry shrugged letting his sentence trail off.

When it became apparent that he wasn’t going to continue with the rest of his sentence Arthur prompted, “plus?”

Henry flushed again, not quite meeting Arthur’s eye (and once again, when he did answer Arthur shrugged off such a physical response as embarrassment rather than a sign of being lied to) “plus, my father was a bit of a…. ~~fana~~ ….a patriot, you could say. His dream was to have a son who would one day fight for his kingdom, preferably as an official knight. He was determined to see this happen despite the fact that we are not of noble blood or rank, he figured that if one was skilled enough that they would be accepted regardless of nobility….not that I was ever able to achieve that level of skill…or any skill really” he admitted quietly while finally walking out of the water and quickly throwing on his previously discarded clothes.

Arthur could tell there was something that Henry wasn’t telling him, but did not want to push the boy he had just apologized to any further. Not to mention the statement reminded him with a guilty twinge of Lancelot—who, while Arthur currently did not particularly care for (what with his previous _inappropriate_ association with Gwen), he still thought would make a brave and worthy knight; despite his lack of nobility. It was just another thing that Arthur had felt doubt over when in regards to Uther’s laws. He felt strangely guilty over the fact that Henry could not hope on becoming a knight, no matter his skill level (even if the apprentice had just stated he lacked said skills). ***

Perhaps that was why he ended up doing what he did—at least he would later convince himself that was the reason…it most certainly did not have anything to do with wanting to spend more time, in close (extremely close if it went the way it normally did) contact with Henry.

“I could work with you if you wanted?” he offered before really thinking it through.

It was the shocked…no stunned, look on Henry’s face that made him realize just how unusual and well, inappropriate his offer really was. After all he was a PRINCE, and he was offering to train a mere serving boy…well, physician’s apprentice, but close enough.

“On what exactly?” Henry asked as though he couldn’t quite believe what the prince had just said.

Here was his chance, here was Arthur’s chance to back out and make the offer into something much safer and more innocuous….he could pretend that he hadn’t said a thing, to step away---

“I could help train you, if you wanted….work with you on your sword skills…..not anything official mind you, but being able to defend yourself is never a bad thing”

\---And he didn’t. No stepping away for Arthur, it would seem that his mind had now joined his body in its determination to betray him. Lovely.

Henry looked at him as though he was slightly insane (and maybe he was), seeming as though he was going to turn him down politely (Arthur half hoped he would).

“I suppose it couldn’t hurt” the green eyed boy said cautiously.

And inside, Arthur secretly cheered.

\--0--

Morgana felt decidedly rebellious at the moment; what with her darkly drawn cloak, the secret prearranged meeting place, and her decision to aid those like her. Yes, despites the danger and suspicion that any one of the aforementioned actions (much less all three) would bring had Uther known about them, Morgana could not quell the overall feeling of glee they brought her.

They probably could have met within her rooms or in an abandoned/seldom used hallway, true—but why take a chance? not to mention, keeping Henry off of Uther’s radar was never a bad thing.

She felt a smile break out when she heard the soft snap of a twig and turned to see the very person that she had been waiting for, what felt like forever to speak with. Because despite the fact that they both lived within the citadel walls and interacted in some form on a nearly daily basis, they could not truly sit and discuss what they wanted to when within those walls.

“How are you my Lady?” her companion asked a teasing note added to her title. She fought back a smile at his nerve (though they were much closer to being on equal terms since finding out about each others’ magic then they had been before), sending him a half hearted glare instead.

“I am fine….and you? I can’t help but notice that you are spending a fair amount of time with a certain brother of mine as of late? Is that wise?” she asked one of the questions that had been plaguing her over the past week. She loved Arthur… she did—well, in her own way. But her brother was far too under Uther’s thumb at the moment to truly be trusted and she worried that with the increased amount of time that Henry seemed to be spending with her brother that he would slip up and be discovered. It was the last thing that she wanted; she finally had an ally, someone who understood her, who was _like_ her in the magic hating court of Uther, she could not lose it because her brother was too small minded to see the truth.

Henry gave her an assessing look before sending a small but reassuring smile her way, “I am fine Morgana, please do not worry about me. I can take care of myself, promise.”

Not entirely satisfied with his answer she still allowed the matter to drop for the moment, after all, she had other reasons for asking him to meet her out here.

“I have heard some disturbing rumors lately…” she began waiting to see if Henry knew where she was going with her statement. Sadly, the she could not guess at what he was thinking as he waited patiently for her to continue.

“I have heard that the king has upped the number and severity of raids against those with magic, but in particular against the druids…” It had been plaguing her for the past few days, ever since she had overheard a few of the knights talking about having to go back into the woods yet again to hunt for the various groups of magic users. Gossiping on how they had found a smaller group of druids and slaughtered them where they stood; every last man, woman and child—the knights had made it sound like sport.

“He’s always been a paranoid bastard, but he seems to be growing more so….his determination to find and eliminate the remaining druids has become an obsession. I cannot stand to sit by and watch as he continues to hunt and persecute good, innocent people-- woman and children! I-I’m so tired of living my life always waiting for the other shoe to drop….It-it’s not fair! I don’t think I can continue this way for much longer Henry, I want…no I _Need_ to do something, anything, to show Uther that he is not a god and does not have the final say in who has the right to live and die!” Morgana ranted letting the frustration that had been building within her out.

“And what are you planning on doing Morgana? I can tell that this is not just some spur of the moment decision for you….I can only assume you have a plan…” Henry asked his tone cautious.

“Well, sort of….okay, not really. But I do know that I want to help them….the druids that is. I don’t know what I can possibly do to help them without exposing myself or others to Uther’s tyranny. There is not much that can be done with Uther in power….” She trailed off, though her implication was as plain as day.

Henry sucked a breath in, but did not deny her statement. “I know. But you need to think this through Morgana….right now you are emotional—rightly so!” he said quickly when she opened her mouth to retort, “….but that will not help anything in the long run. All it will do is get you killed. If you are serious about this, we need to do it smartly, take time, come up with a plausible plan and solution—one that will not cause the entire kingdom to turn on itself. It needs to be about justice, not revenge”

Morgana wanted to protest, although she knew that his words made sense. She was just so sick of it all! She wanted things to change and to change now! She didn’t want to wait and come up with a ‘sensible’ plan or solution like Henry was suggesting….she wanted Uther gone yesterday! But she knew that Henry was right, she was letting her own experiences with Mordred, and the recent rumors rile her up. She knew she needed to get a better handle on her temper or Uther _would_ end up winning.

“What’s more, you need to get a better handle on your own magic and skills. You need to be able to defend yourself or to get yourself out of a bad situation should it come down to that. If you want, I can try and teach you what I know. It is not a lot, but it is different from what you would learn from the druids or other magic users around here….I am willing to do this if, and only if you are willing to come to me before you do anything hasty.”

Morgana found herself agreeing: She wanted better control over her magic; she wanted to be able to defend herself and others should she need to. But most of all she wanted to be powerful enough to make Uther pay.

If she had to tell a small white lie to get Henry’s help in doing so….well, so be it.

\--0—

“You need to loosen your grip”

Harry found himself scowling at the prince rather than actually following his advice and to his annoyance (and well hidden shame) felt Arthur’s sword clash against his own with enough force that it sent a zinging feeling reverberating up his arm. Ow.

“If I loosen my grip, I am just going to end up dropping the bloody thing. Why do they make them so awkward?—they are heavy and far too long to be of any practical use. I hate this thing” Harry whined—no, not _whined_ ….voiced. Yes, he was in no way whining like a child….he was after all, a war hardened, wise and mature individual and therefore did not whine but simply voiced the inadequacy of such a stupid weapon. He really missed the good old days that consisted of a few simple Aveda Kedavras and expelliramuses.

True to the prince’s word, he and Harry had been meeting regularly (well, if you could call two meetings in a week regular) for Arthur to try and instruct him in the art of bashing others with pointy sticks. So far, Harry was sorry to say that he had not been proven a prodigy; which in itself was weird.

After all, Myror was an assassin, Harry was a magic wielding warrior, the combination of the two should have proven to be a bad ass at all things dangerous and lethal. It appeared however, that this was not the case.

Oh sure, Myror was very talented in killing with darts, knifes, sabers, crossbows, poisons, and garrotes---he was not, however, all that talented with broadswords and chainmail. It was a rather large oversight in the assassin’s repertoire in Harry’s opinion, but hey, it wasn’t as though his half was any better with the heavy, awkward, _annoying_ thing.

It was just that the sword that Arthur had been trying to teach him to use was so big and _heavy_. Harry was not a big guy, no in fact he was rather petite and well, scrawny….his physique was not meant to be used in heavy, head on conflict, no,…his physique was much better suited in stealth and silent assassination. Not that he could exactly tell Arthur this. Therefore he was forced to look and feel like an incompetent fool in front of ~~his crush~~ the prince.

Not that this should matter to Harry….and it didn’t. Not at all, well…. not _mos_ t of the time. Ok, not every second of his waking day...

Because the rest of his day was spent worrying. Worrying over a number of things, yes….but mainly worrying over his fluctuating feelings towards said prince. It would be bad enough if Harry simply had a crush on the prince—it would be embarrassing yes, but it could be excused. After all, Arthur did have rather gorgeous and slightly wavy golden hair and soulfully blue eyes. But _no,_ in true Harry fashion, what he felt towards the prince could not be explained away as a simple crush.

Because while yes, he admittedly found his gaze drawn towards the royal heir at random times during the day and he felt flustered and warm in his presence, there were times (rare but they were there) that he also felt an all consuming anger and anger towards the prince. Not the easily explained frustration or annoyance that might be attributed to Arthur’s snobbery, or small mindedness. Not the exasperation that stemmed from Arthur’s views on magic. No this was a hatred, an anger, that did not feel like it belonged to Harry. It felt like it was wholly somebody else’s, and Harry did not like it.

It made him want to pull away from the prince, to avoid him at all costs. And yet the other side…the part that wanted to talk, to touch and just be with the prince, fought to ignore such sentiments. It was leaving Harry a hot mess.

“Are you even trying to pay attention?” Arthur’s slightly (ok more than slightly) annoyed question broke through Harry’s contemplations.

“Um….yes?” Harry answered doing his best to look innocent.

From the look Arthur shot him, he fell a little short.

“Fine….try that last maneuver again, this time relax your grip a bit and move with the swings—you don’t need to hold yourself so rigidly”

Harry sighed but tried to put his focus into what Arthur had instructed….and it worked(!)…well, almost. It _would_ have worked had Arthur not chosen the moment Harry brought the sword down to move to the side slightly, the momentum and weight of the weapon causing Harry to lurch forward and somehow tangle his feet with Arthurs. It was only after the daze caused by impacting hard against the ground had passed, that Harry became aware that his own fall had resulted in the prince also falling.

On top of him to be exact. With his face inches away from Harry’s.

Neither of them moved for a moment, the prince staring down at him with an intensity that made him want to squirm (but that would have been a very bad move considering their current positions….very, very bad). He could swear his heart stopped as Arthur seemed to lean even closer to him; his focus entirely on Harry’s mouth.

For a second, a brief wonderful second, Harry could have sworn that Arthur was going to kiss him.

And then it was over. Arthur drew back hastily and hoisted himself to his feet, his face flushed (Harry was pretty sure it was not from exertion). “I-I have to go. Forgot that I was supposed to meet with Sir Kellen about tax collection parameters” the prince muttered not looking at Harry (who was still lying on the ground, confused as to what had just happened but not happened).

And with that the Prince spun, grabbing his own sword which had been lying abandoned to the side, and beat a hasty retreat.

Harry stared after him his gaze a mix of confusion, longing and regret; and if there was an unexplained anger hidden in its depths….well, Harry just chose to ignore that small detail.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Notes:
> 
> Chapter title: taken from the children’s book titled, Frog Went A-Courtin
> 
> The story summary is: Frog fights and kills Miss Mouse's other suitors (an owl, bat and bumblebee) after they interrupt his proposal. Uncle Rat's permission received, the two work out details of the wedding. Some versions end with a cat, snake or other creature devouring the couple and wedding guests. Sometimes Frog gets away, but is later swallowed by a duck. Apply metaphors as you see fit ;)
> 
> **Harry’s soul joined up with Myror’s in Myror’s old body (for this story I am having myror look similar to Harry aka—black hair, green eyes, slim build, and not like the cannon myror). Therefore Harry while not having the scars that would be present on his old body, does have the ones on Myrors….as myror was an assassin it is safe to say he probably has his fair share of battle wounds, not to mention abuse scars from his earlier years.
> 
> ***Harry is obviously lying to Arthur. Not a particularly good lie, but hey it would seem as though for now Arthur is inclined to believe him. Wonder when it will come back to bite our dear hero? Muhuahahaha
> 
> Please note I know literally nothing about sword play/sparring/fencing etc. So if the advice Arthur is giving Harry is completely bogus….well….ops? ;) hehe just go with it!


	9. Three Little Witches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgause enters the picture. Arther, Merlin and Harry ride off to meet her for her challenge. Arthur learns a few nasty truths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! first off, thanks to all who reviewed you guys have tons of good, awesome karma coming your way (I'm not going to mention the kind of karma coming to the rest of you...smirks, totally joking...kinda) ;) So this chapter is a bit shorter then the previous ones approx 5000 words instead of the usual 10, 000. It revolves around the Merlin episode where we first meet Morgause. Unless you are at least a bit familar with the tv show it may be hard to follow but hopefully not impossible. There is not a ton of Arthur/harry action in this chapter, but promise there will be major steps forward for them in the next!
> 
> Anyhow read and enjoy (and REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!)

* * *

 

_"_ _I am relieved. May I now have the truth?"  
― _ _Georgette Heyer_ _,_ _These Old Shades_

* * *

 

Morgause smirked as one after another, the charging knights fell to her blade. 'So easy' she lamented tching in mock disappointment. To think that these pathetic men could ever hope to stop her from entering the fabled city when she really wanted to.

She threw the door to the throne room open with ease, feeling delighted laughter bubbling up inside of her, only to push it back down with practiced restraint; too early to reveal her cards yet.

The new knights, that had just been bestowed their titles, leapt up, drawing their weapons, ready to defend Camelot and their king with their lives-so young and naïve they were. Such fools. Morgause reveled in the drama of everything….really, she could have chosen to enter and put forth her challenge with far less notice…but where was the fun in that?

Despite herself she felt her gaze drawn to the famed beauty standing off to Uther's right—her raven locks and ice eyes were so opposite of Morgause's own, yet the sorceress knew they shared blood. Her half sister would, and could be just as powerful as she…. given the chance. A chance she would never receive while under Uther's iron shackles.

Forcing her attention back to the warily circling knights in front of her, Morgause briefly scanned them before coming to a stop just in front of the Prince of Camelot himself: Arthur Pendragon. The killer of magicians, the upholder of Uther's laws, the fiercest fighter….Uther's heir.

She decided that she had let the tension build enough to do what she had come for. So she took off her gauntlet and let it drop with a resounding clank at the prince's feet; her attention unwavering and full of challenge.

The golden prince seemed to hesitate the briefest of a seconds before stepping forward, "I accept your challenge. If I am to face you in combat, do me the courtesy of revealing your identity"

This time Morgause allowed a small chuckle….god she loved shock value, and gracefully removed the restricting helmet from her head, giving her long golden tresses a shake as she did so.

"I am Morgause"

The resounding silence that followed made the cackle in her throat burst forward. Oh what fun this would be.

-00—

Morgause grimaced at the sting coming from her arm as the elderly physician cleaned it. She could just see the questions hovering about his graying head, desperate to be asked but hesitating due to their audience.

'Oh how delightful' she inwardly smirked. Any amount of discomfort she could bring Gaius was a plus—she hated the old traitor almost as much as she hated the bigoted king. Well, okay….not quite that much, but she still despised him all the same. He was the epitome of why her people had to run and hide their gifts….one of their own who was too cowardly to fight against the injustice that happened day after day within Camelot and her surrounding lands. In fact, if rumors were to be believed the coward had actually leant a hand in some of the atrocities Uther had commanded. He disgusted her.

"You're fortunate the wound isn't too deep…. you seem familiar. Have you visited Camelot in the past?" Gaius finally asked staring at her searchingly.

She sensed more then saw the increased interest coming from the corner of the room—right where the poison eyed youth stood. She could care less about whether or not Gaius was suspicious of her or remembered her true origins—true, it would make her plans a bit harder to carry out in the end but it didn't worry her all that much.

The boy however.

The boy was another story completely. She was itching to get him alone, to delve into that quiet mind of his and find out just what made him tick. She had been sensing his fluctuating aura from the moment she entered Camelot….true, it had taken her a while to pinpoint who exactly it was coming from (and wasn't it ironic that it was a mere servant, as opposed to the venerated knights and nobles of the kings court?) but once she had…..

He was both fascinating and worrisome. There was no doubt from his aura (what little she was able to read—it was odd, it was like the boy possessed to separate and completely different states within himself. One black and sinister, the other a jaded worn purity) that he was powerful. Far more powerful then she, or really anyone she had come across in her ventures.

That could be very good….or it could be very, very bad for her plans. As of yet, she could not be certain of which.

It meant that she needed to proceed with caution. She would definitely need to watch the lovely little apprentice closely…..after all, despite him being more powerful, she could still manipulate things in her favor.

Her smile turned a tad sharper as a new and improved plan began to form.

-00—

_(note: a lot of the dialogue in this scene is taken directly from the previously mentioned Merlin episode)_

Arthur bit back the swell of humiliation he felt as he forced himself to do what was expected of him and walked over to where the blond fighter was tending to her horse and travel bags. Of course she would be someone who did not trust the stable boys to prepare her horse for travel….honestly, Arthur couldn't even find it in himself to be surprised by this fact.

He had given his word though….of course when he had given it, he had been sure that he would be the one who won the fight. But still, he had told her he would grant her one request if she won…and she had, so he would be damned if he didn't follow through now. Despite the cautious words of Uther, and even Merlin.

Plus completing some mysterious challenge set forth by the blond didn't sound all _that_ bad; after all, if she had wanted him dead she could have done so without repercussion during their fight. Now all that was left was to find out what exactly the challenge was and where she wanted him to go.

Bracing himself for what would no doubt be a highly uncomfortable conversation (at least on his half) he cleared his throat, "congratulations on your victory. You're a skillful swordsman. Woman. Swords….swordswoman…." ok, so not the smoothest start to said conversation.

Still…..he was a prince and he was not about to show his discomfort, even if he was pretty sure the woman, Morgause, could sense it going by the slight smirk that crossed her face. He wondered briefly why it was that he did not feel himself drawn to her.

She was without doubt a very beautiful, high spirited woman….just the type that in the past would have had Arthur salivating. But he felt nothing outside of clinical appreciation. He sighed and pushed his thoughts away, it really wasn't all that important at the moment.

"You have a beautiful horse" she said, seemingly to Arthur. Arthur glanced at the mare he had been leading back to the stables when he had spotted her and approached. It was ok…..he wasn't really sure why she would choose to talk to him about his horse however. Still, he wasn't so rude as to ask. He was about to thank her for her comment when she spoke again.

"I expect to see you in three days hence"

Welll…yeah. He had expected that, after all, she had apparently come all the way here to challenge him to a fight just so he would agree to doing so…..

"How will I find you?" he asked, thinking this a pretty logical question.

Of course he couldn't hope to be answered with an equally logical answer, "When the time comes, you will know your way"

Riiiiiggght…okay then.

"If I don't show up it might be because I don't know where I'm going…." Arthur stated, hinting to her that it really would be better to just give him some bloody directions. Honestly, it wasn't that much to ask!

Again her answer was vague and meaningless, "The path you must follow will become clear to you. The emerald healer should ride at your side"

Arthur felt the urge to beat his head against something solid….for as long as it took to get rid of the oncoming headache he could feel blooming at the base of his skull.

"Emerald Healer?" he decided to focus on the least cloudy bit of her statement as she swung up onto her horse.

"You know who he is…." She answered simply before turning slightly in the saddle to face him more fully, "I should thank you for allowing me to retrieve my sword"

Arthur fought off a grimace. Sure it had been an act of chivalry and he wasn't exactly angry he had done so, but in doing so he had allowed her to come back at him and win the fight. Giving a slight shrug he tried to laugh such brooding thoughts off, "I'm starting to wish I hadn't"

She gave him a smile, though he thought it looked sharp enough to cut steel, "You showed yourself to be a man of honor. You inherited that trait from your mother".

Arthur felt his breath suck out of his chest at her words, completely bypassing the subtle insult directed towards Uther—after all, she was not the only person he had met who thought his father was without honor. Truth be told, Arthur himself often felt that way. No, the reason he was finding it difficult to draw breath was because of the comment about his mother.

To speak of her so easily… as though commenting on the weather, as though they had been close acquaintances or even friends at one point….but no, that could not be….she was far too young, still…..

"You knew my mother?" he asked mentally berating himself at the amount of hope that came out in that sentence.

"I knew her well" the blond replied, offering one more smile before giving her horse a sharp kick and cantering swiftly out of the gates of Camelot.

Arthur's desperate "Wait!" was lost in the swell of the surrounding marketers, knights, and nobles.

He pushed the disappointment away sharply, one thing he knew; he would follow her directions no matter who tried to stop him, if only to see her again.

Because she had known his mother and Arthur would sooner practice magic then let such an opportunity pass.

-00—

(*)

Merlin rode moodily down the barely there forest path, wondering once again just what he had done in his last life to deserve such a fate in this one. He had tried to talk Arthur out of this bizarre request posed to him by the strange Morgause….buuuut nooooo, of course Arthur wasn't about to listen to little ol Merlin. After all, when had Merlin ever been right about his intuitions?

Oh, like all the time you say? Yeah well, tell that to the uppity prince.

At least this time, Merlin wasn't the only one getting dragged along on what was most likely going to end up as a shit show quest…..not that he was all that thrilled with the identity of the other poor soul who had been forced to come.

Yes, not only had Merlin been coerced into helping Arthur sneak past the guards his father had posted to try and stop the prince from doing this very thing, but he was being forced to endure both his 'master's' nervous anticipation, and his half brother's own reluctance at going.

He was still not sure why Arthur had even wanted his brother to go, but for once he actually was siding with Henry's voiced caution regarding their journey. As in….they shouldn't be going.

Yet here they were, riding merrily (or not so merrily in Merlin's and Henry's case) along, not even sure where exactly they were supposed to be heading. Lovely.

"This is going to go terribly wrong, you know that right?" Henry's voice broke his gloomy thoughts.

The glare that Merlin sent him in return was more habitual then sincere, and by Henry's nonplused look he either knew this or just wasn't affected by Merlin's overt hostility any longer.

"If you know this, then why are you even here?" Merlin shot back annoyed at the lack of reaction more than anything.

Henry shot him an unimpressed look but answered anyway, "yes, because saying no was really an option…." the sarcasm was hard to miss.

Merlin let out a sigh, deciding to concede on this point however reluctantly "I've already tried to talk him out of it. I just have a terrible feeling about it….I don't trust Morgause in the least"

"hmmm….I guess your instincts aren't completely rusty after all" Henry teased, his eyes alight with hidden knowledge.

"What are you talking about?" Merlin couldn't stop himself from asking. His brother was so very, very annoying; arrogant and condescending. How Merlin wished he could demonstrate just why the twit shouldn't underestimate Merlin….once again the manservant found himself resentful of having to live a lie when it came to his magic.

"Calm down, just some harmless teasing. You are far too uptight about everything. What I am saying is that I agree….this was thoroughly planned, I can't help but wonder just what made Morgause feel the need to weave such a complicated plot"

Their conversation came to a halt as their horses caught up with Arthur's at the edge of a majestic looking lake, complete with waterfall.

Staring across the crystal waters Merlin found himself answering Henry's last statement with a whispered, "I guess we are about to find out"

-o—

Harry tuned out Merlin and Arthur's squabbling, much as he had been doing the entire ride. He sensed something off about the waterfall but knew that he had no way of explaining his intuitions and that even if he did that he would not get a word in edge wise with the two idiots arguing as they were. Really, it was like being back with Hermione and Ron again-a thought that caused his stomach to clench slightly.

Since he was not in favor of meeting up with Morgause—who Harry was decidedly wary about (as he had mentioned to Merlin, no one with innocent intentions went to the trouble she had gone to in order to get Arthur to agree to this stupid quest). Not to mention the amount of dark….almost malevolent energy swirling around her. She felt like Morgana did, only amplified and more…..twisted (?)Due to these many contributing factors, he decided to wait and let Arthur and Merlin figure out where to go from here without his input, maybe they wouldn't be able to even find the witch and just go home…..right, like he was _ever_ that lucky.

Harry wasn't really sure how to explain the feeling he got off Morgause….or even what it meant. He could only assume that she, like Morgana, contained magic—but unlike Morgana's, hers was far from being underdeveloped. Still, despite the obvious wariness she caused him…who was he to judge? He was certainly no expert in aura reading (what he had decided to term this new ability to feel things off of people….hey it sounded better then 'feeling-thing-mer-jig', so he was going with it) so it was stupid of him to actually act upon his findings.

He sighed and shifted slightly wondering once again why he had even been asked to come along. It was no secret (at least between him and Arthur) that the prince had been avoiding him since their awkward and weird training session. At first Harry had been shocked over the almost kiss (well that was what he was assuming it was going to be….and despite how oblivious he normally was to such things, he really couldn't think up a better reason for why Arthur had been leaning in at such an angle), then annoyed, frustrated and lastly angry.

Ignoring the immediate surge of rage he had felt watching Arthur walk away (which he still had no idea what that was about) Harry only started to feel the cooler, more frustrated anger when he noticed how hard the prince was trying to pretend he didn't exist.

It was fine. Really it was (oh, no no no it wasn't!).

Arthur was a prince; he a lowly servant….he should not be surprised that the prince's attentions were no longer on him. It was surprising enough that they had ever been with him to begin with. It wasn't as though he actually knew the prince at all….hell, they were barely acquaintances. So why had he felt so lonely and abandoned this past week? Maybe it was because the prince was one of the few (outside of Morgana) who had actually looked at him with something other than disgust or dismissal? It would make sense that he would feel a loss now that the prince was treating him just as everyone else in this cursed kingdom was. Somehow though, he knew that wasn't the reason he was missing the idiot.

He sighed trying to redirect his thoughts to a more uplifting subject….ok, not uplifting but at least not as morose and introspective as his previous ones.

Arthur suddenly requesting his presence on this quest without so much as a explanation to his past behavior or a reason for why he wanted Harry to come (considering he had basically been ignoring him since they had left) was weird; weird enough to spark Harry's curiosity.

Never a good thing; especially paired with the mystery of Morgause and her odd aura (not to mention her obsession with Morgana…Harry had noticed the blonds eyes constantly seeking out the King's ward throughout her short time in Camelot. He was also pretty sure that she sought Morgana out privately, and Harry couldn't help but notice Morgana was sporting a new piece of jewelry the morning they had left. A piece of jewelry that had very similar energy to Morgause's surrounding it. Curious and worrisome).

Still, despite his curiosity having been twanged, Harry still had a bad feeling about this trip. Not that he could do much about it of course. Like he had told Merlin, he was along for the ride whether or not he agreed with it.

"Arthur?"

Henry's head shot up from where he had been studying the tuffed hair of his horse's mane to realize that Arthur and Merlin had stopped their arguing. In fact Arthur was no longer visible.

"Where did Arthur go?" Harry asked slightly bemused at the fact he had not even noticed the prince's departure.

"The lake" Merlin answered his tone filled with disbelief.

Harry would have thought that his brother was being his usual pain in the ass self if Merlin hadn't sighed forlornly before directing his own horse to move into the water.

Ahhh….well, apparently Arthur had clued into the waterfall being just a front for whatever was behind it then. With his own sigh over the thought of having to get wet Harry nudged his stubborn mare to follow.

Oh this was such a bad idea…..

-0-

He was right. It had been a bad, terrible, horribly cliché idea. Like the ending to every villainous plot in the history of villainous plots. And that was his opinion b _efore_ Arthur had willingly laid his neck to bear on the executioner's block in the courtyard. He was starting to wonder if the gold in the crown that the royals seemed to favor had lead in it….after all, that was the only logical explanation he could come up with for why Uther was such a bat shit nut job, and why Arthur would _willingly_ almost get guillotined.

Luckily for all involved, (especially Arthur—as he got to live, and Morgause because Harry would have lost his shit on her had she actually gone through with chopping that fine, fine head from that lovely, fit body) it had been another test for the golden prince and instead of beheading Arthur, as it appeared like she would, she had stopped at the last moment.

Harry didn't think he was the only one in that dilapidated courtyard to breath a heavy sight of relief. Really, he would have interfered beforehand, but his reactions had been a bit delayed due to the shock of having Arthur be stupid enough to actually lay his head on top of a bloody looking chopping block. Honestly…..some people….

He had hoped that the executioner's block challenge would be the end of it…. but of _course_ it wasn't. Of COURSE Morgause _had_ to offer a 'reward' for Arthur's courage and nobility (stupidity and pride, says Harry). Not that he was going to deny the slight swell of his heart when Arthur had remarked that perhaps Uther's opinion on magic was not entirely correct, that perhaps magic could be good….after all, Morgause had done nothing to harm him and she was offering him a chance to speak with his long dead mother.

Despite the obvious good qualities Morgause was demonstrating, Harry for once was in agreement with his brother…that maybe, just maybe, it wasn't the best idea to take her up on her offer. And of _course_ Arthur hadn't listened to either of them.

Which brought them to where they were now: watching Arthur from several feet back surrounded by a shimmery shield like substance, waiting for him to finish what had to be an enlightening conversation with his long deceased mother. Not that they could actually tell whether or not the conversation was interesting considering the shield made seeing what was going on in general, much less the individual expressions on the conversee's faces impossible. But Harry could assume that Morgause would not have gone to so much trouble to get Arthur to talk to his dead mother's spirit if it was going to revolve around top secret family recipes or whatnot.

Harry felt her presence draw up beside him but pretended not to, keeping his attention focused on the shielded Arthur several feet away. He knew that she would break the silence eventually….he could almost feel the curiosity and questions bubbling from her.

"Who are you?" was asked just a hair over a whisper, though Harry saw Merlin's head cock slightly and it was obvious that he was curious to the upcoming conversation as well.

"Henry" though he was pretty sure that was not what she had meant with her question. He didn't like the way that she had been periodically staring at him since they had arrived. The slight shadow of insanity and obsession was just a wee bit too familiar…..cough cough Bella.

"No….who _are_ you? You are no simple apprentice….there is no point in trying to claim so. I can _feel_ you. I can feel it….so strong, I have never sensed someone with so much potential. So much black energy….where do you come from boy? Who taught you? And why are you in Camelot of all places?" Again with the intensity….and the crazy eyes….and the urgency to _know_. Yeah, Harry could tell this wasn't going to go away anytime soon.

Harry could feel Merlin's suspicious gaze burning into the back of his neck-fan-fucking-tastic; just the line of questions that he had wanted his half brother to overhear. This was sure to ensure family bonding. He felt a sudden urge to sigh wearily and pull out all of his hair...which would hurt, so he did not. Despite wanting to. Yeah…..

"I am afraid you are mistaken my lady…..I am just a humble peasant who was lucky enough to be granted a position within the royal court. I would ask you to refrain from such a perilous misconception in the future" Harry refuted stubbornly, not really sure what else he could really say with Merlin listening in like a hawk.

Thankfully, (or not so, as Harry would find out later) Morgause's response was cut off by the crumbling of the magical shield surrounding Arthur, revealing a furious, and haunted looking prince in its wake.

Merlin's suspicious glare was drawn from Harry morphing into an apprehensive concern, "Arthur….what's wrong? What happened? Are you alright?" the questions fell from the disguised sorcerer's lips as he too took in Arthur's expression.

Arthur was already striding purposefully to where they had left their horses tied up, not pausing as he swung himself up.

His answer when he finally answered Merlin's query was not all that comforting.

"I am going to kill him"

Harry let out a weary sigh; he had a feeling that he was going to be bald by the end of his stay in Camelot.

-oo—

The frenzied ride home (because really, there was no other way to describe the near impossible pace that Arthur led back to Camelot) and the following events passed in almost a haze. Well all expect for Harry's conversation with Merlin that is.

A conversation that was loaded with barely veiled hostility and suspicion….so big change from the norm…..(cue sarcasm)

Despite Harry and Morgause's overheard conversation, and the questions and concerns it no doubt increased in his brother, Merlin seemed to be willing to set said concerns aside. At least for the moment. Though Harry was pretty sure that had Arthur not been about to murder his father, the _king_ (and bring civil war and rioting down upon all their heads) that Merlin would not have been so willing. Silver linings and all that.

The conversation revolved around, what else?- Arthur. Well, Arthur and whether or not it was a good idea to lie to him. Which in Harry's opinion, it was not.

"How else are we supposed to stop him from killing Uther?" Merlin snarled under his breath as they raced after Arthur in his march to find his father and engage said father in a duel to his death.

"I don't know. But lying to him about what he supposedly saw and learnt is not going to end well" Harry spat back, starting to feel slightly winded. (Who knew that a worked up and betrayed prince could move at such a pace?)

"And why should you care? It's not like this will affect you in any way" Merlin snarked back suspicion coloring his expression.

'Oh, but brother dearest, this will definitely affect me as I am a magic wielder like you, living in this kingdom of bigotry and hatred over something people have no say over. But unlike you, I don't think telling Arthur that the sorceress who has opened his eyes—even if just slightly—to magic not being an all out evil, is fooling him into murdering the king so that she can take over Camelot herself, is the way to go about things. Especially since she actually told him the truth; that Uther is an uber lying duchbag'. -too bad Harry couldn't bring himself to say such words to his sadly misguided sibling. No, revealing he was magical at this point wasn't going to end well considering Merlin was already suspicious and wary of him.

Heck he wasn't even sure if the fact that they shared both blood and ability would stop his brother from ratting him out to Uther and watching him burn. Likely while eating popcorn. So instead of what he wanted to say, he settled for:

"I don't. I just think that lying to him is going to make things worse rather than better"

Sadly, as events followed Merlin did just that. Not that Harry was exactly expecting his brother to finally listen to his advice, but still…..only an idiot couldn't see that this lie wasn't going to come back and bite everyone in the ass.

Still, once the words were out of his brother's mouth, it wasn't as though he could exactly refute them without drawing majorly unwanted attention to himself. Maybe he should have owned up to Merlin when he had the chance.

But then again, the saying that hindsight can be a bitch didn't come out of nowhere.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter titles: taken from the children’s Halloween song titled, Three little witches.
> 
> *I am diverging from the episode slightly, the three never ran into Odin’s men, and while the conversation regarding Arthur’s mother did happen between Merlin and Arthur it is not going to be a scene in the chapter. Just know that it did occur yada yada. 
> 
> **I know, I am aware that the actual saying is hindsight is 20/20, but hey this is Harry ;) just go with it….he can be a stubborn git.


	10. The Lion and the Unicorn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the next chapter. A wee bit of arthur/harry action to be found! yay! Thanks to everyone who reviewed and here is a plea for those of you who didn't to please please do so! even if only a single word. Just so I know that there are people still interested in this story...
> 
> Anyhow, enough begging. Read on ;)

* * *

 

_“_ [ _The best way to destroy an enemy is to make him a friend”._ ](http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/a/abrahamlin163041.html?src=t_enemy) _\--_ [ **_Abraham Lincoln_ ** ](http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/a/abraham_lincoln.html)

* * *

 

Harry felt his head shoot up from the ingredients he was so carefully preparing at the sound of a fast becoming familiar voice.

“…here?”

Gaius’s older scratchier one answered, “Ahh….Prince Arthur. It has been a while since you last visited these rooms….”

Harry didn’t know whether to be amused or irritated by the insinuating sly tone. Gaius was a bit of a headache to him. The man reminded him of a mix of the Albus Dumbledore he had once believed in—the grandfatherly mask part—and the kind, but weak part of Remus Lupin. He was easy to care for, but there was no hiding the fact that the man had many flaws…his cowardice, one of them.

Harry imagined that Gaius would and could have been a great man; someone who could lead others and help them with their magics had he not first been friends with Uther. Like the poisonous leper that Uther was, he infected and twisted everyone around him…leaving the man little more than an old, tired physician…too afraid of his own skills to stand up for those like him. It was sad…and despite the fact that he genuinely liked the man and got along with him just fine, Harry could not help but to also pity him.

“Ah….yes…I suppose it has…is your apprentice here? I need to speak to him” Arthur ignored the suspicious and all too knowing look being sent his way with practiced ease.

“Hmmm….well you are in luck, HENRY!”

Harry sighed, knowing that he could not continue to pretend that he was unaware of the prince’s sudden presence and that even if he could, he would have to face up and talk to the infuriating blond eventually. The fact that it had been nearly a week since the horrible quest they had gone on, hadn’t eased this knowledge any.

Setting down his knife and taking as much time as he could to wash the ingredient juices from his hands, Harry finally made his way out from behind the brewing station (really just a long table hidden by various cauldrons, and racks of ingredients. But it sort of gave an illusion of being separate from the main rooms) to where Arthur was standing somewhat awkwardly at the front of the room.

Gaius had gone back to pretending to read his text book on antidotes. Not that it fooled anyone.

“Can I help you your highness?” Harry heard himself stiffly asking. He was still a bit miffed over the obvious snub the prince had been giving him the past several weeks. He had no idea what the Prince hoped to accomplish by coming here…or what he could possibly want for that matter. He had, after all, made it perfectly clear that he had very little interest in Harry by his continued stanch silence since the ‘incident’ (the name Harry had coined the almost non kiss).

He noted with a small amount of vindictive glee how the corners of Arthur’s blue eyes tightened in displeasure at his cold address. Serves the giant royal ass right!

Arthur shot another glance at the old man just feet from them and turned slightly to open the door into the hallway, “I wish to speak to you. Perhaps we should continue this conversation somewhere a tad more…. _private_ ” he shot a glare at Gaius over the last word. Not that the man seemed remorseful at all, given his almost smug up turning of lip.

Harry hesitated, wanting nothing better then to refuse the arrogant blond but finally consented with a tight nod, knowing he had absolutely no authority to do refuse. God he was starting to hate this era and its hierarchy. Still he had enough stubbornness and pride (perhaps stupidly too much) to maintain his silence once they were safely out of ear shot and in the deserted hallway.

“God….I must be insane to want this…” Arthur huffed, his frustration making the under his breath comment come out louder then he likely intended. Harry felt his own indignation bristle at the comment….he drove him insane? Pot call kettle any one???

The prince seemed to gather himself from his momentary slip and straightened his spine with the next question…or rather demand, “why were you not at the training session we agreed upon earlier?”

For once Harry found himself a speechless. The nerve! He couldn’t believe that the Prince could possibly be that dense….

“Excuse me?!?” he managed to choke out, the incredulity that he was feeling evident in every line of his face.

Arthur’s jaw tensed as he grit his teeth, no doubt trying to hold onto his temper, “I asked why you did not show up for the training session I was so kind to offer you?”

Harry wanted nothing more than to kick the ponce in the shins in that moment. It was only years of having dealt with Dudley, Draco and even Ron (at times) that stopped him from going through with it.

“My apologies your highness” he grit out, “I was unaware that those were still being offered….you know, since you haven’t spoken or looked my way since our last one….oh….almost a month ago?” the sarcasm could not be missed.

Harry held up his hand to stop whatever comment Arthur was going to make, making to Prince gape at him in shock over his audacity, “no…my mistake you did speak to me long enough to demand my presence on a life threatening expedition without so much as a reason why you wanted me, an untrained civilian to go….not that you actually acted as though I was there at any point during the trek…”

And okay. Maybe there was a bit of bitterness and hurt mixed in with that last comment. Harry knew he was being overly childish and bratty but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. The hurt that had been simmering in his chest since the prince’s obvious dismissal was finally making itself known; Whether Harry wanted it to or not.

There was a long silence that seemed to literally press down in its weightiness upon them. The distant noise of the kitchens a few floors down could just faintly be heard—soft almost barely there clinking of pots and pans.

The small amount of hope that Harry hadn’t even been aware he had been harboring flickered out and died as the silence continued to grow. What had he expected? A heartfelt apology? An explanation to tell him that it was not because he was just a plain, uninteresting serving boy that the Prince walked so easily away from? He wondered bitterly why he continued to allow himself these pitiful hopes. Well, at least he could officially add delusional to his growing list of mental afflictions.

“My apologies sir…I am afraid I haven’t been sleeping well and it seems to have interfered with my rationality” the curt words dropped stiffly into the previous silence. “I should probably get back….” He trailed off with every intention of scurrying back into the room and away, far away, from the man in front of him.

His intention was smashed by a strong hold on his arm, preventing him from even starting to turn away.

“Hen…shit.” The man now holding his arm prisoner cursed quietly under his breath before taking a deep breath to start again, “Before I met you….I do not believe that I had ever apologized to anyone in my life—at least not anyone outside of my father. Now though….now I find that I am constantly apologizing for ills against you….”

Harry wanted to snap out that if he didn’t want to continue having to apologize that maybe he should stop acting like such a royal prat, but he held his tongue; still far too unsure of their tenuous relationship and his standing within it.

“Henry, look at me” Arthur commanded when Harry continued to stubbornly stare down at the floor. There was a very interesting gouge in that stone just to his left….he wondered what could have possibly made it…..

The prince let out a irritated groan, “Oh for the love of…..” he reached with his free hand to firmly grasp Harry’s chin and force green to meet blue. “I _am_ sorry for ignoring you, I’m sorry for acting like an asshole and like the royal ass that everyone believes me to be and whom I despise. Thank you for coming with me last week….despite not acknowledging it, your presence was a great comfort to me. And for that I am very thankful. Now will you please…. _please_ agree to continue our sparring sessions?”

And how was Harry supposed to continue resisting? What with that soft pleading tone and repentant look on his bloody angelic face. It really was not fair---but then again when had life ever been fair?

Letting out the breath he had been holding since the Prince grabbed onto his chin, Harry gave in and gave a hesitant nod of agreement, knowing that he would end up regretting this but too weak to say no.

The smile that blossomed on Arthur’s face made whatever pain that was sure to follow almost worth it.

“Thank you” Arthur breathed out softly, and before Harry could even think of moving away, the prince brought their faces together in a chaste but very present kiss.

Shock, arousal and more shock raced though Harry at the feeling of soft skin against his lips. He stood there shell shocked as the Prince drew back, gave him one more smile and turned to walk away. He was still standing there in shock when the prince paused halfway down the hallway to turn back and throw a casual, “Oh….the next sparring session is in fifteen by the way. You had better be there”

And then he was gone.

That arrogant son of a bit---

Still, Harry thought as he rubbed absently at his slightly tingling lips, maybe arrogance was not such a horrible trait to have after all.

\--0---

“What!?! You have got to be kidding me….no! Absolutely not. I will not” Merlin denied adamantly, still not quite believing the nerve of the giant lizard before him.

“It is not a choice, young warlock. It is an essential….you must set aside your differences and befriend your brethren. If you do not….not only will Arthur fail to achieve his goals, but Camelot as a whole will fail. If you fail to do so, then you are cursing Camelot to an age of Darkness, the likes which even I, as ancient as I am, have never seen before”

Why, oh why, could his talks with Kilgaharrah never be about tasks and quests that Merlin _wanted_ to do? Why must they always involve him being involved with life threatening events or being around people he despised?

“No…..you don’t understand. I cannot… _will_ not become friends with him. You can’t understand how much I _despis_ e him! Do not ask me this….surely there is some other way, can’t I climb the highest mountain, or fight an army barehanded or something instead? Anything else?” Merlin pleaded shaking his head, because surely, surely he had sacrificed enough by now that he deserved a wee bit of a break?

The ancient dragon gave him one of her rare looks of disproval, so potent in its disappointment that even Merlin felt it’s effect (and he prided himself on being nearly immune to such tricks).

“You are willing to fail your task after all you have given up to succeed, over a petty human squabble? One that from my understanding has little basis in fact or reality? Perhaps you are not the wizard that I had imagined….perhaps I was wrong….” She trailed off, flexing her wings as though to take off and end the conversation.

The very thought that Kilgaharrah could so easily dismiss him and therefore his very important task, caused Merlin’s throat to close up with panic. No! he couldn’t just give up, walk-away from his goal….he had given up to much already. His home with his mother, the girl back home who he had a bit of a crush on, hell… he had even hidden his magic from near everyone outside Gaius for more than a year!

He would not let the Dragon dismiss him so quickly, he would prove that he did deserve to be the one to guide and help Arthur achieve peace for all. To unite the kingdoms and allow magic to reign free!

He would….even if he had to pretend to befriend his brother.

“W-wait! I’m sorry. You are right….I’ll do it. All I have to do is make him like me?” Merlin managed to croak out, relieved when she turned back around to face him once more.

“For now” was her cryptic reply.

Still, he would worry about what she meant by that later….right now he would focus on faking affection for the annoying intruder. He could do it. He had hidden his magic from Arthur all this time after all….how hard could it be?

His brother had come here practically begging for a scrap of affection from him. To have a relationship….it would not be that difficult to play on those feelings….after all, it wasn’t as though he cared whether or not Henry got his feelings hurt in the process…

So why did he feel so guilty at the thought?

Somewhere deep under Camelot, in a dark cavernous cave, a Dragon sighed in exasperation. These humans never learnt, why couldn’t they listen to what she said…not twist her advice into something entirely different? This would only end up in disaster…that she could tell.

\--0---

“W-where…did…you…learn…how…to do that?” Morgana gasped out between panted breaths, leaning over with both of her hands braced against her knees. She knew that at this moment, with sweat dripping down the side of her face, her hair tousled and likely filled with debris off of the forest floor that she looked a longs ways off of the noble lady that she was. Still, she couldn’t find it in herself to be upset over that fact…in fact, the burn in her lungs and every muscle in her body (or at least that was what if felt like) felt rather nice. Accomplished.

When she had convinced Harry to train her magic (ok, so he had offered…potato…patoto…) she hadn’t realized just how deep and varied his skills and magic actually were. It was truly amazing and try as she might, she found herself in awe of the slender man who was fast becoming friend.

Henry shot her one of his trademark enigmatic smiles, “here and there…” was his vague and completely uninformative reply. Not that she was really all that surprised by it….his answers concerning any about his past were always vague and skittish. That just made her more curious. Still she wanted him to continue helping and teaching her, so she would resist the temptation to push for more….at least for now. His past would be laid bare to her one day, whether he wanted it to be or not.

“Alright, do you want to attempt another shield or have you had enough for today?” Henry asked looking annoyingly composed and _not_ out of breath. The bastard.

Morgana grit her teeth against her protesting back muscles as she straightened her back and shoulders, “Again….I almost had it that time…”

She fought a flush of happiness when Henry sent her a proud little smile, nodding his own approval at her perseverance and dedication. “Alright then. This time I am going to up mix it up. I am going to continue tossing spells at your shield to see if you can hold up against them, while also tossing more physical objects at you. Your shield will not protect you against the objects, just the magic, so you will need to be able to dodge as well as keeping your concentration on the maintaining your shield….you up for that?” the question was genuine, but Morgana only heard the challenge in it.

“Of course” she replied haughtily readying her stance for his attack and bringing forth the semi-transparent silvery substance he had been working for the past few weeks with her on. Sure it had taken a lot of effort to get to this point, but she didn’t even deny, that it felt unimaginably good to be using and training her gift that she had been forced to hide for so long.

He started off slow, sending a few low level spells (at least that was what he had called them. To her, spells that caused your enemy to go unconscious or trip seemed to be pretty useful), looking satisfied when they bounced off her shield harmlessly. He quickly followed this was more of the same spells and when he was sure she was keeping up started to lob various size stones and branches at her using his own magic. She dodged and weaved, fighting to keep her concentration on her shield---and she managed….well, for a few seconds.

A tree branch seemed to rise out of nowhere snagging her foot on it and she felt her shield and body collapse in surprise.

She wanted to glare at the soft chuckle she heard from her companion, but a deceptively delicate hand up later and a beaming smile from her teacher had her softening.

“Good! You are getting so much better, and so quickly! Hmmm…I think that is enough for today. We have already been gone almost an hour and a half…I don’t want to risk anyone noticing our absence. We can continue tomorrow if you want?”

Leaning over to brush of her skirt, Morgana allowed her stiff muscles to relax, knowing that the attacks were over…at least for today. She was both relieved and disappointed.

“Yes, that will be acceptable. I have to attend chapel with Uther and Arthur in the morning, but I do not have any duties in the afternoon…same spot?” Morgana agreed easily, already looking forward to the next time she could escape the suffocating citadel walls.

Henry nodded his agreement, “I will convince Gaius to allow me to go and hunt for herbs or make some of the further out deliveries in the afternoon. He generally is pretty easy going as long as it gets done” he moved to turn away but something caused him to pause.

“That is an unusual bracelet my lady….where did you get it from?” the question seemed innocent but there was a hidden edge behind his calm façade.

Morgana instinctively grasp the bracelet he was referring to, pushing up so that it was hidden beneath her dress sleeves. It was the one that Morgause had given her…the one to stop her nightmares. When she had first accepted it, she had been a bit skeptical but hadn’t wanted to be rude. To her amazement it worked! Since putting it on, she had slept soundly…therefore it was not all that suprising for her to feel oddly protective of the thin metal band.

“It is nothing. Simply a trinket” she answered, wincing internally at how defensive she sounded. Still, it was hers she didn’t want to share it with anyone else…it felt…it felt too private. Even to share with her magical tutor and friend. It was _hers_.

Plus, it wasn’t as though he wasn’t keeping his own secrets from her….she had no reason to feel guilty over having a few of her own; none what-so-ever.

“Hmmm….” was Henry’s answer, though he shot her a strange look before shrugging.

“Alright, I should go. I will see you tomorrow….I would tell you to work on trying to levitate small objects like I showed you, but it’s not worth the risk. We will try that tomorrow if we get time. Until then my lady” he gave a facetious half bow before disappearing through the trees, taking a longer, more obscure path back (an extra precaution to be sure no one saw them together or put their simultaneous absences together).

Morgana let out a deep breath that she hadn’t been aware she was holding and traced the bracelet with her finger. She felt a small moment of doubt over not telling Henry the truth about the gift but pushed it away just as quickly.

It was ok. There was no reason for her to tell Henry about its true origins….after all, it was only a simple gift.

\--0—

Uther glared down at his overly polished signet ring, making a mental note to yell at his man-servant for polishing the ring too vigorously. True, he had demanded the boy redo his efforts after the first time he had cleaned the ring because it wasn’t quite shiny enough….but that didn’t give the idiot an excuse to go overboard! He didn’t want the ring to become worn after all.

And maybe his glare and foul mood had little to do with his gleaming ring, and more to do with his heir and son. Arthur had not been his usual obedient, eager to please self as of late and Uther was not sure what to do about it. His glare sharpened when he thought of that…that _girl_!

How dare she?! He wished he had snapped her scrawny neck the minute she stepped foot in Camelot…he had known that nothing good could possibly come from a female playing at knight. It was sacrilegious…that was what it was!

If he had known then, just who the little bitch was….well, let’s just say that she would not have survived long enough to challenge his son to a duel. He still flushed with shame thinking of how his son had humiliated himself in front of their loyal subjects by actually losing the match. It was something that he did his best not to think about too hard.

After all, knowing what he did now, he was sure that the little wench had resorted to using magic to defeat his son…it would make a lot more sense than Arthur actually being less skilled then her.

He let out an uncharacteristic sigh, brooding on the events of the past month. They were not good. Not good at all.

At least he had managed to do enough damage control to prevent the witch from achieving what she had hoped when she drew Arthur into her nefarious schemes. He reluctantly admitted that it was not his efforts alone that prevented Arthur from committing patricide.

No, as much as he hated to admit it….that incompetent man servant deserved some recognition in how the events unfolded. If Mervin had not convinced his son that the witch was telling him lies concerning his birth and the lovely queen’s subsequent death, then he was not sure how things would have played out. He was grudgingly thankful to the annoying twerp.

Of course that thanks only went so far….after all it was dangerous to ignore the fact that the manservant may know more about the events of the past then he should. And if he did, that drew question as to his motives in saving Uther’s life. Uther did not appreciate being indebted to another…especially some idiotic serving boy. He also did not like just how much influence and sway the boy seemed to have on his son.

No, he did not like it at all. He made a note to pay more attention to Mervin….an extra eye or two on the boy would not go amiss….and should he prove to be a danger to Uther’s rule and outlook on life….well then, being a man-servants was a dangerous job at times. If he were to befall an untimely death…. no one would question it.

It was for Arthur’s good after all. The prince’s well being was worth far more than some poor peasants. No matter how thankful or indebted the king might be too said peasant.

After the run in with his son, Uther had discretely (or so he thought) started to pay closer attention to not only the boy’s servant but the boy himself. What he found worried him slightly. Arthur was far more distracted then was warranted and seemed to disappear for large chunks of the day.

Uther brushed it off as something inconsequential….likely a petty affair with a serving girl or girl from town. He did not necessarily like Arthur dirtying himself with whores of such low standing but he understood that Arthur had needs. And well, boys with be boys. He was willing to look the other way for the time being….as long as his son was careful and discreet, no harm would come from his extracurricular activities.

He would have to remind Arthur of his duties however….sometimes his son got the silliest ideas in his head about duty and honor. It would not do for his son to actually fall in love with whatever whore he was entertaining himself with. He would make sure that his son understood his responsibility to the kingdom and the fact that he would eventually be engaged to a lady of good standing. That she would be chosen by Uther; went without saying.

The sound of heavy footsteps brought Uther’s attention back to the present and he scowled down at the man who was bowed in front of him. He fought down his irritation at being interrupted. It did not matter that it was he who had ordered the man’s presence in the first place….

“Your majesty….you have use for my skills?” the heavy set man asked his tone carefully deferential.

That made Uther happy. It was always nice to be reminded of one’s obvious superiority over his subordinates.

“Yes I did. You may rise.” Uther commanded pausing to wait until the man had done just that, “I have heard about your particular set of skills….are they as proficient as vaunted?”

He already knew they were but he wanted to hear it from the man’s own mouth. It was a power thing….he enjoyed having powerful people forced to do what he wanted of them….no matter how petty or small the request was.

“Yes your excellence. I have yet to fail an assignment” the man dutifully answered.

“Good. You had better not fail this one, or you will not like the consequences” Uther threatened waiting a few seconds for the threat to sink in before clearing his throat to continue, “I want you to find and get rid of a woman. She goes by the name of Morgause….she was present in our kingdom only a few weeks ago. I do not know where she is currently holed up, but she must be taken care of. Her very existence poses a grave danger to Camelot’s safety….if she is allowed to continue to live; her lies will continue to poison and corrode. I will _not_ have it. I want her gone”

The man’s eyes widen only a fraction at the name and description….no doubt he remembered the woman in question…she had raised quite a spectacle while here after all.

“Of course. It will be done”

Uther smiled with satisfaction, “Good….you will be rewarded when it is done. That is all….you may go. The faster you fulfill your duty the greater your reward”

He didn’t bother to pay attention to the man’s retreat, having already dismissed the problem from his mind. He was a very busy man after all….he had other important kingly things to deal with. He quickly swept his cloak up and made his way towards his chambers…a nap was in order. Being king was an exhausting position.

If he had paid a bit more attention, he might have noticed the presence of another lurking just outside the door and he just might have seen the hate filled eyes that followed his retreating back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Chapter title is taken from a nursery rhyme of the same title which revolves around the full Royal Coat of arms of the United Kingdom. The Lion and the Unicorn are symbols of the United Kingdom. The lion stands for England and the unicorn for Scotland. The combination therefore dates back to the 1603 accession of James I of England who was already James VI of Scotland. By extension, they have also been used in the Coat of Arms of Canada since 1921. I simply used this verse for the above chapter because to me the poem alludes to confrontation or impending conflict. ;)
> 
> The verse goes as so:
> 
> The lion and the unicorn
> 
> Were fighting for the crown
> 
> The lion beat the unicorn
> 
> All around the town.
> 
> Some gave them white bread,
> 
> And some gave them brown;
> 
> Some gave them plum cake
> 
> and drummed them out of town.
> 
> And when he had beat him out,
> 
> He beat him in again;
> 
> He beat him three times over,
> 
> His power to maintain


	11. The Curse of Lizzie Borden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lady of the Lake episode. Where Merlin begins to enact his plan. Harry and he find themselves in a situation. Harry drinks too much. And trouble abounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! thanks so much to everyone who reviewed...really really appreciate your words and feedback ;) Here is another chapter (EARLY! YAY!) and it is a loooong one (almost 10, 000 words). It is set during the episdoe Lady of the Lake and for the most part sticks to what happened but there are some changes both in character backgrounds and how things unfold. 
> 
> Read and REVIEW (and enjoy...hopefully)

 

**Chapter Warnings: side character death, slavery, drinking**

* * *

 

_“Love can be a terrible curse, Eragon. It can make you overlook even the largest flaws in a person's behavior.” ―_ [ _Christopher Paolini_ ](http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8349.Christopher_Paolini) _,_ [ _Brisingr_ ](http://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/3124969)

* * *

 

“Yes?” Harry raised an eyebrow in question—for once truly curious as to the answer.

It was not every day that his brother actually sought him out after all. Though a small part of his brain questioned why exactly Merlin was looking for him if not to secretly assassinate him. It was only a small part, mainly because Gaius was still in the room and he was pretty sure (like 99.9%) that the old man would not be a part of any dastardly plot that ended up with his body left in some deep, cold trench.

Harry cocked his head slightly when Merlin mumbled something shifting from foot to foot looking altogether awkward and uncomfortable.

“Sorry….I didn’t quite hear that” Harry stated ignoring the annoyance that flitted across his brother’s face. What? He hadn’t….it wasn’t _his_ fault that the nitwit couldn’t enunciate properly.

“I was wondering if I could tag along on your rounds today?” Merlin repeated looking sullen and reluctant even as he spoke the words.

Harry felt a flare of suspicion and wariness. It was rather obvious that Merlin did not want to come with him—or spend time with him for that matter (it wasn’t as though he hadn’t made this fact perfectly clear from the moment that the two of them had met)…so what had changed? Or more likely, what did Merlin hope to gain from this excursion.

Harry gave himself a small mental kick at his paranoia (something that had definitely increased since joining his other half). He really shouldn’t immediately jump to nefarious motives….maybe Gaius or well, Gaius (since he couldn’t see anyone else giving a damn) had bullied Merlin into trying to be nicer. The older man had taken a bit of a shine to Harry after all (at least he put up with him)….and he was practically a father figure to Merlin…so it was possible. Likely the old man just wanted some of the tension that sprung up every time they were within sight of each other to disappear.

Harry shot a quick covert look over to where the old witchdoctor sat ‘reading’ (for the amount of ‘reading’ the guy did, he should have long ago been finished that bloody encyclopedia) searching for a sign that Gaius was behind this sudden act of Merlin’s. Of course the old man’s face had for once, become indecipherable.

Harry gave a mental sigh before deciding to throw caution into the wind just this once….after all he was relatively sure that Merlin would not resort to physically harming him, plus maybe spending a bit of time with his brother would help the other boy see him in a better light (or at least expose his true motives—the Myror part of his brain added unhelpfully).

Realizing he had yet to answer Harry gave a nonchalant (or so he hoped) shrug, “er….sure, why not. I am rounding on the lower half of town today though. So it will take few hours at least….” he trailed off.

A slight grimace of distaste flitted across the other wizards face but was quickly concealed—just not quickly enough. Harry felt his own mouth want to pull downwards. At least now he could be pretty sure that Merlin was up to something….

Just what --remained to be seen.

\--o—

Merlin hid his surprise at the scene before him. He hated to admit it….I mean really, really hated, but as previously stated, to his surprise, his brother was actually good at his job. And by good, he meant really surprisingly good. Huh…who would have thought?

Sure deep down, Merlin knew that he had always been a bit biased and unfair regarding his opinion of Henry but despite knowing this (deep deep down) he still hadn’t expected his brother to actually have such a calming air about him when dealing with the sick and dying. He found himself reluctantly impressed.

He knew that Henry was suspicious of why he had offered (asked) to go with his brother on physician rounds (it was a practice that Gaius did twice a week, one half of Camelot on Tuesdays and the other half on Saturdays. It had been something that the elderly physician had done for years and while Uther had looked down on the practice—considering it was not helping the people _he_ deemed important—Gaius had somehow managed to convince the king to let him continue), but he was not discouraged. He knew that it would take time for his brother to set aside his suspicions and allow himself to trust Merlin, especially given the way Merlin had treated him since his arrival.

The young warlock steadfastly ignored the part of his conscience that was screaming at him for doing something so back handed but he managed to silence said screaming for the most part. This was for the good of Camelot after all…sometimes one had to do things a bit morally dubious to ensure the betterment of many. Still as he watched Henry stoop down beside an old woman in order to redress her leg ulcer his gut churned uncomfortably.

He pushed the feeling away once more when Henry finished and stood up to join him, “Alright….we are just about done. Just a quick stop at the hogshead”

Merlin forced the sneer and derisive statement that wanted to spill from his lips away, “why do we need to stop at the pub?” he asked, proud that his tone came out simply curious and not confrontational.

“Gaius is making the owner a stomach soother….I just have to drop it off” Henry answered easily although Merlin could tell by the slight curl to his lip that his brother was pleased by the lack of hostility being shoved in his direction. Again with that unsettled feeling.

They walked down the now quiet streets—most of the inhabitants home for the evening, likely sitting down for their last meal of the day—for a few long moments before the silence grew too much for Merlin. He was already suffering enough indecision regarding his choice he did not need the silence to allow him more time to think about it!

“You are rather good at this” he offered unable to keep the surprise from his voice completely.

Henry’s brow quirked up and his brother shot him a hesitant smile, “er….thanks….practice makes perfect and all that.” Merlin would have dismissed the sentence had he not seen how his brother tensed his jaw immediately after saying it, as though regretting his words.

Curiosity got the better of him, “practice?”

This time there was no subtly at all in how Henry’s eyes seemed to shutter, and his expression closed down becoming defensive and guarded.

“Yeah practice” he answered shortly obviously hoping that Merlin would just let it go.

Of course he didn’t….

“Where did you get practice at cleaning and wrapping wounds?” Merlin asked again watching the other boy’s face closely for his response.

Henry’s lips thinned and the corner of his eyes tightened further, “it should not come as that much of a surprise to you, but father was not exactly the kindest or gentlest of men” he bit out before coming abruptly to a stop.

Merlin started slightly in surprise—at both his brother’s words and their insinuation and the fact that they had apparently arrived at their intended destination without him having realized.

Henry didn’t wait for a further comment from Merlin grabbing onto the door and entering without waiting, leaving Merlin to follow or be stuck waiting outside.

For once Merlin decided to give his brother a small amount of courtesy and grant him the privacy he obviously wanted in that moment. He moved to the side of the street patiently wait for him to finish.

He tried to tell himself that Henry’s words didn’t matter….they didn’t change anything. Not how he felt about his brother nor his current plan and the outcome he hoped to achieve. The churning in his stomach seemed to disagree.

   --0—

Harry grit his teeth, angry with himself for getting so easily worked up. Not to mention his obvious over reaction to the whole situation. Not that there even was a situation mind you, no, just a freaking simple sentence and he was acting like someone had butchered his fire bolt, right in front of him.

The most annoying part of it was that he couldn’t even be sure that it was his overreaction! And yes, he realized how insane and confusing that sounded. Not that it made it any less true.

Because Harry hadn’t needed to flee from Merlin’s presence because he was upset over his past, no, he had fled into the Hogshead because he was upset over _Myror’s_ past! And wasn’t that a kicker? As if he didn’t have enough emotional trauma and damage from his own upbringing—he just had to have another half a soul with an even worse childhood for him to share in. Lovely.

Thankfully it would seem that Merlin at least had the decency to give him a bit of space and he felt himself calming down and relaxing the further away from his confusing brother he got. Taking a deep breath, Harry pasted a fake smile on and gave a half hearted finger wave to a group of rowdy knights in the corner who were waving enthusiastically.

He recognized a few faces, having started training with Arthur he tended to spend more time near the prince and thus near his men. He had only met one or two of them and really only conversed with a rather roguish—but amusing one named Gwaine. Still, if they were drunk enough to overstretch their nonexistent relationship with him, then he could at least acknowledge them with a wave.

“Mr. Jenner?” Harry turned his back to the loud table his eyes landing on the man he was here for.

“Ai, Henry….howre ya tonight?” the bear of a man asked, his watery colored blue eyes warm with humor.

Henry had only delivered Royce Jenner his tonic a few times, but the man was unfailingly polite and friendly to him. Despite his intimidating stature and the fact that he could probably squash Harry like a bug with just a pinky, Harry couldn’t fail to like the guy.

“I’m good. Thanks for asking. And you? Business treating you well?….here’s your tonic by the way. It should last you for the week” Harry answered in kind, handing the jar of solution over the bar counter.

“Thank ya lad. Been runnin low and business is jus fine, Here ya are…theres a bit extra there for ya to buy yourself somethin nice ya hear me? Ya work too hard” Royce answered with a beaming smile clunking the coins onto the counter in front of Harry.

Harry made to protest but stopped at the look Royce sent him. He knew that he would just end up offending the man should he refuse his generosity to he carefully scooped up the coins and nodded his thanks, turning back to the door after he saw that Royce’s attention drawn away from him.

Despite knowing that there were genuinely kind and generous people in the world, Harry still found himself a bit overwhelmed when presented with evidence of such. Though he suppose growing up as he had, not to mention, adding Myror’s naturally suspicious and hostile personality played some role in it.

He was once again surprised when he exited the pub to find Merlin waiting for him rather patiently—(surprised over the patiently part, not the waiting that is). But he hid it and gestured with a nod that they could head back to the citadel. It was getting a bit late now…and even if Camelot was generally pretty safe, he still didn’t want to paint a target on his back by being caught out after dark. At least not without some visible muscle for protection (even if he knew he could probably handle himself if it came down to it—thanks to Arthur’s continued training and his own skill set. It didn’t mean he wanted for it to come to that. He did not need the extra attention or scrutiny that would come should he be forced to defend himself).

They maintained their silence as they made their way back up the darkening streets, and Harry liked to think that it was less strained then before. But perhaps that was only wishful thinking on his end. The silence however was interrupted by a sharp intake of air—one, that Harry realized was coming from his companion.

“What?” Harry asked quietly, worried just enough to stop his trek and turn slightly. He frowned when he realized that his brother had not only stopped but had ventured a few feet off to the side into a well concealed side alley.

“Merlin?” he called out softly, hoping to catch his brother’s attention and get an answer.

For moment silence once again fell between them and Harry thought the other teen wasn’t going to answer him.

“Over here….look!” Merlin’s hissed command came back at him. The urgency in his tone had Harry complying with minimal complaint.

When he reached Merlin and saw just what he was indicating at he felt his jaw slacken and revulsion curl in his stomach.

And once again reality struck him. It really wasn’t that big of a surprise that he was such a cynical and untrusting person…..for every time he was met with a demonstration or proof of peoples’ kindness and humanity, he was just as quickly drenched with proof of their greed and depravity.

He could only stare with resignation back at those terrified black eyes:

The terrified black eyes that belonged to the shivering girl in front of him. The girl who was locked away in both a cage and collar.  

\--0—

(read note at end of chapter)

Freya, when she concentrated hard and long enough, could still recall a time when her life had been rather blessed. Her early childhood for example had been spent playing (or rather frolicking—but she was not such a sad lass as to use language such as that) among the wild mountains and forests of Freiheit, her doting father and kind hearted mother never far.

It had all changed when the horrid fires that destroyed and taken away so much of her beloved forest had also taken her family, leaving her the sole survivor. She had been sent to live with her maternal aunt whose character was very different from her mother’s gentle soul. She could not say that Petrina was cruel---for she did not seek to purposefully cause others woe, but that being said, she was far from empathetic or gentle.

The spinster had never had children of her own and for good reason. She did not like them and she most certainly did not understand them. Her way of dealing with the small traumatized child thrust upon her was to enforce strict and unbending rules and order; something that a child such as Freya, who had grown up in the wild freedom of the mountains did not understand.

It would be the cause of much strife and misunderstanding in the first few years that she lived with her aunt. Of course her own stubborn willfulness did not make things any easier. But still, despite the abrupt change in her life…she coped fairly well. Or at least she liked to think so.

No, her luck at that point, while no longer golden and blessed, was not quite irredeemable and cursed…perhaps a tad tarnished but not get unsalvageable.

That would come three days before her fifteenth birthday. And all because of one disgustingly drunk man who could not control his urges while under the influence. Freya, who had always been the gentlest of souls, who shied away from conflict and violence, surprised herself that night. She had never thought that she was capable of ending another’s existence but apparently, when threatened enough, her instincts were just the same as any other human beings. Survival at any cost.

Of course one would have thought that given her reasons for the man’s death that others would have understood. He had brought it upon himself after all with both his stupidity and his own unconscionable actions—apparently his mother did not see it that way.

And so her life and luck truly took a turn for the worse.

That unfortunate day was the day that marked her forever onwards as cursed. A mindless beast and killer at the stroke of midnight. She fought her fate at first—for what else could she do? But as the years passed and it became apparent that nothing could stop the change—her freedom even outside of those terrible hours was forfeit.

This was not the first—and likely not the last time she would come to find herself chained and locked away like the wild savage she was cursed to become. While she did not like Halig, it was more because of the type of man he was rather then the fact that he had caught and caged her….at this point in her life, she almost welcomed the death that was sure to be delivered her once he had handed her over to Uther.

Perhaps she would finally get to rejoin her long lost family.

Her retreat into her fonder memories, away from the approaching cold—and now spitting night, was interrupted by a horrified exclamation. It took her a moment or two to focus her weary gaze on the tall slender man standing just a few feet from her—separated of course by the rusting bars that held her captive.

He had lovely eyes she decided—very blue….compassionate. Not that she was fool enough to think that they would remain that way should he learn just why she was caged. Such reckless hopes and daydreams had long since abandoned her.

It was then she felt it—the ripple of energy signifying that this man had a secret of his own….just as, if not more dangerous than her own. It made her sit up and pay more attention to the stressed, urgent conversation being had between him and another.

The other seemed to have a similar sort of feel around him though not quite as apparent* as the blue eyed mans. They were apparently arguing (and not surprisingly) it was about her.

“…can’t just leave her here!” the blue eyed man hissed, indignation radiating out from him like a flood.

“I know that. _Merlin_ ….what do you take me for?” his companion hissed back just as vehemently. Was the blue eyed man’s name Merlin then? Though his companion said it in the manner she had heard the drunks at the local cavern curse and use the lords name in vain, so perhaps not? She forced herself to focus on what was being said instead of letting her attention wander. She was very tired though…and cold. It was hard to always tell reality from the imagined.

“….I am just saying that we should be careful. There…there’s something off about this….about her” the last few words were said quietly, as though the speaker did not mean for them to be heard. But they made her heart freeze. Did he know? How could he? Was he working with Halig? For she could not think of any other way he might know of her secret.

“…save your own skin…” blue eyes grit out his glare making those lovely blues icy in their anger.

She didn’t catch what the other man said, but saw him throw up his hands and gesture towards the cage in resignation. She watched with mild bemusement and a fair amount of confusion as the blue eyed man’s eyes turned gold and the door to her prison sprang free.

So she was right then. He too had secrets…..she glanced surreptitiously at his companion, wondering if he was the same but brushed it off in favor of uncurling her hunched figure to scramble out of the cage.

“Don’t worry…I’m not going to hurt you” he said in a soothing voice. Still she shrunk back from his touch—it had been a long while since she had received contact that was not painful.

“Merlin….we need to move” the second man whispered urgently.

The man, Merlin, seemed to deliberate between listening and glaring at the speaker but in the end decided to go with the first and he cautiously placed a warm hand on her shoulder. “Please trust me…I am going to help you, but Henry is right….we need to move before you are discovered”

Freya debated for a brief second before giving a nod of acceptance. She might as well go with them….it wasn’t as though she had any better options at the moment. And despite having been ready to accept her death only minutes ago—she had not yet completely lost the instinct that told her to survive at any cost. She would take this opportunity as it was presented to her.

The three of them moved quickly, or as quickly as her weak tired body would permit, through the shadows….finally ducking into one of the entrances that led to the vast and confusing network of tunnels that lay under the city and castle.

It seemed like hours but in reality was likely only mere minutes before Merlin came to a stop and gently guided her into an alcove of sorts that lay hidden off to the side of one of the tunnels. Henry, his companion seemed to survey the spot for a moment before giving a slight nod of approval.

He watched her with a mix of wariness and pity, though there was a definite shadow of suspicion and curiosity in his eyes as well. It set her ill at ease but she couldn’t help but notice that he too had rather lovely eyes. The men looked somewhat similar to each other—she would bet that they were related, at least distantly.

“Here” he said after a minute taking off his jacket and handing it to her. It had definitely seen better days but beggars can’t be choosers…. not to mention it was probably still warm despite its appearance.

Still she was wary about accepting too much from them….after all she still didn’t know what they wanted or expected from her. Her reflexive shift away from him seemed to soften his eyes and he held up his hands in a placating gesture, “Sorry. Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you. I just thought you might be cold. ”

When she didn’t move forward to take the jacket he set it on the ground and took a few steps back. Years ago she would have been offended by such a move—like she was a wild, frightened animal. Now though, she knew just how true that sentiment actually was.

She decided to ignore the jacket for now; she could retrieve it after they left…if they left that is. Turning her attention back to Merlin—for he seemed far less suspicious of her then the smaller man, she couldn’t stop the question that had been hounding her since he had opened her cage, “Why did you do that?”

Surprise flitted across his face and he looked momentarily taken back by the question, “What?”

“Help me” she clarified. She had to know—despite experience telling her that it was better to leave such questions alone.

He paused for a long moment, before speaking and she realized that she wasn’t the only one waiting for his answer.

When Merlin did finally answer, it did give her suspicions of the weird energy around him some weight, “Well, I saw you and...it could've been me in that cage.” He seemed to hesitate as though wanting to say more but a quick glance over at the other man had him stopping, “You'll be safe down here. I'll come back in the morning with some food and candles. Will you be alright till then?”

Growing more and more curious as to the relationship between the two, Freya found herself nodding.

Merlin sent her a brief but genuine smile and moved further back out of the out clove before pausing, “I’m Merlin, by the way…and” he seemed to swallow before forcing himself to continue, “…this is my brother Henry.”

The way he said brother made it seem as though the term was particularly difficult for him to spit out. Not that Henry seemed that surprised by the fact or even really all that offended. He sent her a friendly but guarded nod of his head.

Deciding that they had earned a name at least for their aid in freeing her, she sent her own cautious smile back, “I’m Freya”

“Freya” Merlin repeated as though sounding the name out to see how it felt on his lips, he smile grew slightly and he stooped down to pick up his brother coat to hand it over. This time she hesitantly accepted it.

“We…I’ll see you in the morning Freya” he corrected himself glaring at his brother when it seemed as though he was going to say something. Henry shrugged and turned away to start making his way out of the underground labyrinth.

Freya waited until both of the men had moved out of sight, leaving her once more on her own. “Thank you” she whispered to the empty air. And she could almost convince herself that she meant it.

\--oo—

Time passed slowly in the dark—or near dark she should say, since she did have the slight illumination provided by the few candles that Merlin had left her. Still, with the continued search for her (according to Merlin they had discovered her empty cage far sooner than he had hoped) she was hesitant about using the candles too much.

But to be fair, it wasn’t just the dark and the uncomfortably cold and dank air around her that made it seem as though she had been under the city, hidden away in these tunnels for months rather than a few days. No, it was the situation itself.

The sheer hopelessness and weariness that seemed to stalk her in the unending quiet; for she was no fool, she knew that even if she should escape capture this time around, that they would continue looking for her…and if not them, then someone else who the monster inside of her had wronged over the years. Or worse someone it would come to harm in the future. It was why it was called a curse after all, it was something that she could not and would never escape from.

And she was so very tired.

Still she saw the determination and optimism that steeped those blue eyes and she could not bring herself to show her true feelings. She had lost a lot of kindness and good will over the years, but she was not cruel enough to want to snuff that light out of her savior. So she continued on pretending: pretending that everything was going to be alright, that it would all work out in the end if only they believed and tried hard enough.

Henry was a different story.

The other man had come back to visit her with Merlin once since that initial night…never on his own, but she saw it in his eyes. He understood.

While she could not call him cruel by any means (he did appear in fact to be rather a kind hearted man) she knew that he was not fooled by her false optimism or the innocent façade that she used on his brother. Perhaps even more then recognizing her deceit, was the fact that he seemed to recognize her situation. He knew that a happy resolution to a situation such as hers was unlikely. Still, he did not say anything—whether because he was respecting her own silence or because his brother was there, she did not know. She wondered how long he would wait before confronting her about it?

The soft sound of a light tread brought her from her thoughts and she quickly extinguished the one candle she had lit for a bit of ambient heat (not that it helped much in that regard), moving as quietly as she could further back into the shadowed alcove.

She held her breath when the footsteps came to a stop just feet from her hidden spot, her mind whirring with worry. Merlin had said that he would not be back today—if it still was today, it was sometimes hard to keep track down here but she was relatively sure she had not made a mistake (she had been using the bell that sounded each morning signaling mass, to tell the start of each new day).

Suddenly her little spot was ensconced in light and a pair of green eyes-- only inches from her own—were looking back at her. “Hello Freya”

\--0---

“Henry” Freya said allowing her shoulders to relax, if only slightly “what are you doing here?”

Henry looked as though he was going to answer her before stopping and giving a small shrug, holding out the package she just noticed he was carrying as reply.

While still wary and cautious around the man, she trusted him enough by now to know that he would not hurt her….or at least she was pretty sure he wouldn’t--if only because his brother’s regard for her. She could easily admit that their relationship confused the hell out of her. There was obvious tension and bad blood between them yet, the younger of the two seemed oddly protective despite that fact. She figured it wasn’t really her business, although the hours alone in the dark did give her plenty of time to ponder it. “For me?” she questioned reaching out and taking the bundle (which was apparently a loaf of bread and another few candles) from him.

“Yea—yes, Merlin was worried about not being able to come today. Arthur has him running ragged helping with the….er helping. So I told him that I would come in his place. Figured you’d probably be running low on candles at the very least” Henry answered looking a bit awkward now that his hands were freed from his purpose.

“He’s helping him with the hunt isn’t he?” she asked more curious then really offended. Merlin was Arthur’s man servant after all….and considering he had helped her escape in secret it only made sense that he would have to help search for the escapee to keep up appearances.

Henry gave a hesitant nod, eyes scanning the dank tunnel restlessly. “Are you…have you been doing okay…here I mean?”

The fumbled but genuine question was perhaps the reason why she had started to feel less wary towards this man. For even though she knew that he did not trust her, and that he knew more about her then he let on or that she would have liked, he could still care enough about her to ask after her comfort. It was what separated him from all the others in the past she had encountered. It did not explain why he cared though.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked. She knew that this was the second time that this particular question had been voiced but the last time it was directed at Merlin not his brother.

Henry didn’t look as surprised as Merlin had by the question but he looked just as uncomfortable over it. “Why wouldn’t I?” he answered back.

She narrowed her eyes slightly at his avoidance. Why couldn’t he just answer the question? It wasn’t that difficult of a question….”I don’t know that is why I am asking” she said pointedly, refusing to look away from him. “I get the feeling that you do not trust me….or at least that I unnerve you….so why would you continue to help me—given this?” Maybe if she stopped trying to avoid the elephant in the room and gave voice to something they were both more than aware of but pretending not to be, he would answer her truthfully for once.

Silence expanded between them, making the dripping caused by the prevalent dampness in these tunnels sound deafening. Henry let out a sigh, raking his hands through his hair and pulling the leather strap that held it back out.

“You’re right” he finally answered.

Despite his statement Freya still found herself confused, “right?”

“You’re right, I don’t trust you” he expanded holding up his hand to silence any protest that she might have—though she had none (she knew better than any that she should not be trusted), “It is nothing that you have or haven’t done. I really can’t explain why and I am sorry for that…but there is something, something about you that puts me on edge. I want to ignore it. Merlin, do I want to….especially given how unfair it is to you…someone who appears to have already suffered and lost so much but….but I can’t”

She felt momentarily stunned by his words. Not really sure how she should feel about them she chose to focus on her original question instead, “so then…why are you helping me?”

“Because, despite every instinct in me telling me not to; that this is going to end up badly for all of us… I am human first, not a simple animal ruled by instinct. Logically I can see how much you care for my brother and how much he cares for you in return. I can see, even in the span of a few days, how much you change him just by existing---and for the better. When he talks of you he is less bitter, less angry…and I can’t risk him loosing that. So I help” Henry replied shrugging in nonchalance, but Freya ignored the contrived movement in favor of looking at his eyes. And his eyes were anything but dispassionate.

The silence that fell this time was not nearly as cold or heavy as before and she watched as he rolled his shoulders slightly, before straightening his spine and turning to leave.

“Thank you” she whispered once again to the returned isolation and darkness. And this time she just might have meant it.

\--0—

Harry pushed open the heavy door, grimacing at the sudden rush of noise that swept over him as it opened. He ignored his discomfort, far too in need of a stiff drink to be turned away by the obnoxious atmosphere of the place.

After the past few days he had had he didn’t even feel all that guilty over giving in—he needed all the relaxation that he could get. And if it could only be found at the bottom of a bottle, well then so be it. He was ignoring the part of him (ok, both parts of him) which hated anything alcoholic…(mainly because both Myror and Harry had been forced to deal with their past caregivers under the influence and that was not a pleasant thing) in desperate need for a short term reprieve from his own thoughts.

And as he knew it would, despite his past avoidance of such things—he felt a distinct relief as the cold liquid washed down his throat….slowly, but effectively pushing all thoughts of Freya, Merlin, and Arthur to the back of his mind.

This last week had been hell for Harry; worse than any of the weeks spent trying not to die during the Triwizard cup, worse than camping on the run, worse…okay, almost as bad as a summer at the Dursleys. Then again, he had never had to deal with feeling such conflicting feelings regarding a person before he had met Freya.

He pitied the girl—not because he thought she was weak or incapable but because he knew what it was like to be dealt a hand of cards so sour that no matter how you played them you were going to lose. He did not know exactly what hand the girl had been given, but he could read enough in her posture, face and eyes to know that it was bad. In that sense he wanted to help her, to give her something that no one had ever bother to give him before—support, hope.

If that had been the only thing he felt towards the battered girl then he would not have been feeling so conflicted…so guilty.

Because it wasn’t. Yes he pitied her and wanted to help, but another part of him—one that he had come to call his other half, wanted to annihilate the girl. It— _he_ could sense the overwhelming sense of danger and threat coming from her small frame….and even if he did not understand why that was or what exactly that threat meant, he knew that he would be a fool to ignore it. And his ‘other’ did not seem as though it would allow him to completely ignore it, no matter what Harry wanted.

He had been noticing the other more and more lately and frankly, it scared the shit out of him. He had been wary, a bit nervous perhaps when he had first awoken and sensed a foreign (at least in his mind it was foreign) entity skirting around the outer edge of his consciousness but he had been able to push such worries away, as at that time it had still been the outer edge.

A few weeks later when he no longer could feel the entity (also known as Myror) he had been both relieved and afraid. Relieved, because maybe it meant that Myror’s being had finally merged completely with his own and therefore he could no longer feel it as a separate being. Afraid, because of the exact same thing. He could no longer separate them---therefore he could no longer be sure that his thoughts were solely his halves. Still he had been able to confine his concern to the wee hours of the night when he had nothing else to concentrate on and continue as was during the day.

Now though…now, he was experiencing thoughts and feelings that he was positive were not his but Myror’s: the overwhelming sense of anger that appeared and disappeared at random intervals and seemed to have no rhyme or reason behind its appearance for one. The suspicion he felt of almost everyone he met and interacted with. The itch that had him constantly identifying threats and yearning to dispose of them. No….these were not things that he would have normally felt—at least not since his mind sharing problems with Voldemort (it was actually eerily similar to his fifth year)—in his past world.

Whatever was happening between his and Myror’s halves had gone wrong…it was not what he and the goblins had planned…and he had no idea how to fix it.

\--00—

Gwaine snorted into his cup, coughing as the lager he was drinking went down the wrong pipe. A few minutes of hacking had the air in his lungs draw in as normal, and he wiped his eyes—unable to get rid of his smile.

Who would have thought that he; Gwaine of Carelon—a tough scrapper, all around womanizer, and hater of all things noble would ever have felt not only comfortable, but happy in the presence of the famous Knights of Camelot. Not only did he feel both of the former mentioned, but he was in fact a knight of Camelot himself. Fate was a tricky mistress.

Ignoring the drunk ribbing coming from his table mates he allowed himself a step back from his friends to scan the crowed and quickly becoming more so, tavern. It was far from a reputable place—a place that one would expect to find the noble and honor bound knights—but that just made Gwaine love it more.

It was safe to say that Gwaine was not your typical Camelot knight. His behavior, manners and dress definitely did not fall in line with what Uther demanded of his noble warriors (Gwaine was pretty sure the only reason he was a knight at all was because he had come from noble bloodlines and the small fact that he had saved the prince’s life….that and the unlikely happenstance that Arthur seemed to take a shine to him). Of course not being the norm found in a knight, applied to the company that he often kept.

Unlike many of his brethren, he did not care to distinguish between classes and social ranking (half of the knights Gwaine served beside had only gone through the intensive training because of the distinguished rank they would receive—snobs the lot of them!). Hell, he was better friends with Arthur’s manservant, Merlin then most, if not all, of the nobles he lived amongst.

It was for that reason that Gwaine shouted out a joyous (and very drunken) greeting when he spotted the young and still fairly new physician’s apprentice making his way over to the bar. Well that, and the fact that the poor boy looked like his world had been lit on fire while he was forced to watch it burn to the ground. He couldn’t help but feel sorry for the chap.

“Oi! Henry!” he gave a yell and attempted to stand up though his effort was rather wobbly so he gave it up for just waving a hand to attract the dark haired boy’s attention.

It was not the first time that Gwaine had noticed the teen—how could it be? Gwaine was an admirer of lovely things and there was no doubt, that Henry Emrys was lovely. Far too young for his tastes but lovely non-the-less. No, for once Gwaine’s continued interest in the other was not indecent, no he saw a sort of younger brother in the man. Well, he would if said man didn’t act so wary and guarded all the time. Not that he was offended by such behavior because it became apparent that Henry Emrys acted that way with everyone, not just him.

Gwaine could not help but think that living such a way had to be lonely. It did bring to question what had happened to the young man to make him such. He would have asked, maybe even pried but Gwaine knew first hand that sometimes secrets and pasts were better left alone. So instead of digging and demanding answers from the smaller man, Gwaine decided that he would be the friend Henry obviously needed but whose pride prevented him asking for.

Henry’s green eyes swung around to seek out his addressor, a small (and slightly forced) smile making its way to his face when he spotted Gwaine. He gave a half hearted wave and looked as though he was going to continue on his path towards the crowded bar. Gwaine was not having it.

Putting a lot more effort into standing up this time, Gwaine reached the smaller man with surprising speed and agility for one so drunk. “Hey, come sit with us my friend! You look like you could use some company”

Henry opened his mouth, no doubt to protest or make some excuse before trying to escape once more, but Gwaine never gave him the chance. Latching his much larger hands (and stronger grip) onto the teen’s bicep Gwaine all but carried (dragged) Henry over to the table he had been previously sitting at.

His table mates were either too drunk at this point to object the presence of a mere servant or they knew better then to do so when Gwaine had that glint in his eyes. Perhaps it was a combination of the two.

“Sit” Gwaine ordered, forcing Henry down onto the stool beside his own and forcing a drink into his hand, “drink”

Henry paused for a long moment before resigning to his fate and doing just that, the tension that he had been carrying in his shoulders slowly leaking away after several large gulps of the brew. Gwaine took it as a victory.

He didn’t bother asking the other man what was wrong, for even as drunk as the teen was quickly becoming, he knew that he would not spill his secrets. Instead he focused on making the other laugh…well that, and continuing to pour copious amounts of liquor down his throat.

By the time that Gwaine had deemed him relaxed enough, Henry was barely conscious. Ooops….

So maybe, he had misjudged the others limit somewhat….

Ahh well, no harm done. Not really. Though there was no way Henry would be able to make his way back to his own quarters and Gwaine might be a nice guy and all, but there was no way he was going to carry the other that distance.

Luckily a solution came in the form of the inn’s owner---a man who still owed Gwaine a number of favors, not to mention cash (hey, he was very very good at poker. Oddly enough he seemed to get more skilled the more he drank) and it was easy enough to get a room for the night.

He carried the lax teen up and dumped him on the Spartan but clean bed, making sure to position him so that if he were to throw up he wouldn’t choke. Satisfied that Henry was somewhere that he could sober up that was both safe and somewhat comfortable, Gwaine made his own way back to his quarters. Glad once again for his high alcohol tolerance.

He probably wouldn’t have thought about the other man again, had he not been awoken three short hours later by the warning and emergency bells ringing throughout Camelot.

He felt his heart pick up when he overheard his squadron’s leader say, “Get suited up, and quickly. There has been another attack. This time near Genrup’s Tavern….almost everyone there was found injured or dead”

\--oo—

The first thought Harry had when he woke up was to wonder if he was dead. The second was to wish it were so.

This was just another reason why one should not drink—or if they did, not drink themselves into unconsciousness. Because sure, for a few hours last night he had been able to forget about everything weighing down on him, but sadly, those things were still here in the morning. Only now he also had a raging headache and mouth that tasted like ass to go along with it.

The latter two could partly be to blame for why it took him so long to realize that he had not woken up in his own room, or _any_ room for that matter. No….when Harry finally managed to crack his crusted over eyes open, he realized that he was lying half propped up on a dirty back street wall.....covered in blood.

The wailing of an alarm was ringing through the air, making the already considerable pain in his head monumentally worse and his blood crusted shirt stuck uncomfortably to his skin. All he could do was stare down at it….hoping and praying that he was having some sort of terrible nightmare or even a drunk hallucination.

When he went to push himself up off the wall, the sharp stinging pain to his right shoulder made it obvious that it was neither. By the strange angle his right arm was hanging rather uselessly by his side he deducted that his shoulder was likely dislocated. Now if only he could remember what the hell had happened to have done so.

That was what was really freaking him out at the moment—the large, cavernous blank that was his memory. The last thing he recalled was getting plastered with Gwaine, Percival and Edwin. He had no idea how he had gone from that to this. And since he was currently covered in blood—which as far as he could tell, was not his own, he was a _bit_ freaked out.

Forcing himself to shakily make his way out of the alley to try and make sense of what had happened; hoping that something would twing his own elusive memories, Harry found himself once more facing something that he really did not want to face.

That being-- a courtyard strewn with what appeared to be messily torn apart bodies. He barely managed to hold onto his stomach contents when the stench hit his over sensitive nose. What the hell?

Had…had Camelot been invaded while he was off doing whatever he couldn’t recall doing? Because this amount of carnage was too much for your average criminal or beast.

The instincts that had caused him to seek out the tavern in the first place, aka the ones that he was not entirely convinced were his, had him moving hastily away from the desolate scene. He knew the bells going off were ones warning people to stay in their houses and calling the knights and soldiers to investigate (or defend from whatever threat there currently was). He instinctively knew that he did not want to be caught here, at the scene of the crime—especially covered in blood as he was.

He was trying really hard not to think about that fact…or let himself contemplate too deeply the reason behind it. No…..worrying pointlessly about things he could not be sure of, or that were just plain ludicrous---just paranoid assumptions really--would not help anyone, least of all him.

He knew one thing for sure however—he was really starting to get really sick of waking up with no memory and covered blood.

\--0—

“Hey”

Harry didn’t even jump at the playful greeting and the hands that found themselves over his eyes. He had heard the other approaching—the snap of dry twigs was a dead giveaway.

He had been avoiding everyone and everything since waking up yesterday covered in blood. His guilt and worry knawing relentlessly at him making it impossible for him to settle down and act as though everything was normal.

He had briefly thought to go down into the tunnels-- partly because it would give him the privacy he so desperately needed, and partly so he could check on Freya. Though he couldn’t imagine that the girl had been hurt considering she had not ventured out of the tunnels since Merlin and he had brought her there. Thoughts of how he would explain just why he was covered in blood; blood from some unknown source that was not him, had kept him from doing so.

He could always check up on her later…plus he was sure that Merlin would. Though, it sadly left him with one less place to escape to—forcing him to retreat into the outer layer of the woods for some time alone. His only fear was that Gaius would come and hunt him down….demanding to know where he had been last night and what had happened. Both things that he could not say for sure—at least not if he wanted to be honest.

Thankfully, Gaius had been too busy consulting with Uther and trying to come up with an antidote to the poison that had been found in the few survivors’ wounds to worry much about where his errant apprentice had gotten too.

Had the situation not been so dire Harry might have been offended by the apparent lack of care such forgetfulness suggested. Things being as they were however, he was rather thankful for the brief yet much needed reprieve. He had only been praying that by the time anyone thought of him that he would have had time to collect himself enough to reapply his mask of calm and ignorance.

With Arthur’s sudden appearance—it looked like he was going to be forced to test his façade much earlier than he had hoped however.

“Your highness” Harry replied trying to keep his tone light. It wouldn’t do to go and show just how unwelcome the blond’s attentions were right at this moment (sadly that always seemed the case with Arthur—he was nowhere to be found when Harry wanted his attention, but when he needed space…)

Arthur’s hands dropped from their place over his eyes and he gave the smaller man a mockery of a frown, “I thought I told you to call me Arthur when we are alone?”

The sheer poutiness the prince was demonstrating had the effect that Harry had been trying and failing to achieve since leaving the bloody scene and finding seclusion amongst the trees, he felt a reluctant smile fighting its way onto his stiff face. “Arthur” he indulged with a slight tip of his head.

“What are you doing here?” he asked the oddness of having Arthur seek him out at a time like this catching up to him. He would have expected the prince to have been still chest deep in the hunt for whatever (or whoever his mind unhelpfully supplied) had been responsible for the massacre. Again his mind supplied that maybe, just maybe, the prince was doing just that by finding where Harry was hiding. A line of thought Harry had been trying very hard to ignore for the past 24 hours. He wasn’t all that successful.

“I can’t just want to spend some time in your company?” Arthur asked, surprising Harry yet again by plopping down beside him on the fallen log Harry had been brooding on. Then again, he suppose Arthur was not exactly king yet, and unlike Uther he had plenty of experience with the less pristine aspects of quests—such as sleeping, sitting and eating on the ground.

Harry shot him a look, “I just thought that you would have been….um, well busy. You know what with….with the, the killings” –Oh and that didn’t sound completely suspicious. Great job dipshit! The voice in his head piped up. He was really starting to wish his inner voice had been a Hufflepuff not a Slytherin…for one it would have been much easier on his self esteem.

“You didn’t hear?” Arthur asked in surprise.

“Hear?” Harry parroted his stomach clenching at his apparent ignorance. What was he supposed to have heard? What possibly could have happened since his sojourn into isolation?

“We found and slayed the beast responsible!” Arthur answered him, the pride in his voice unmistakable.

Harry found himself shocked into speechlessness. They had what? It took only a brief moment before a sense of profound relief washed over him. They had found the thing that was responsible for the massacre! That meant that _he_ —a possibility that had been eating away at him since yesterday morning—could not possibly have done it! Harry barely managed to bite back his whoop of exaltation, though he was sure that the brilliant smile on his face could easily be explained away by the mere fact that Camelot was ‘safe’ again.

“W-What was it?” he finally managed to ask twisting his body slightly so that he could better see Arthur. The fact that they were mere breaths away from each other was not lost on either man.

The proud smile on Arthur’s face drooped slightly, a—not regretful, but resigned look replacing it, “It was the escaped prisoner that father had us searching high and low for”

Harry felt the breath in his lungs whoosh out, “w..what?” he shakily asked. Surely he did not mean Freya? But who else could he possibly have meant? Freya was the only prisoner to have escaped recently that Harry was aware of…..he had known that there was something about her that his normally protective nature rebelled against, but that did not mean he had wanted her dead.

He had not been lying to the girl when he said he thought she brought out the best in his brother….oh shit! Merlin---how was his brother going to take this? He may not have loved the girl but he had definitely cared about her….

Arthur let out a sad sigh, shifting uncomfortably, “Yes unfortunately Halig—one of the bounty hunters that Uther relies upon to apprehend dangerous criminals and individuals—had caught a young girl a few weeks back. I guess the girl had been living under a horrible and irreversible curse…one that turned her into a blood thirsty monster. I think Gaius called it a Baset (?), every night”

Harry felt his mind spinning; guilt, horror, remorse, relief, and glee all fighting for dominance.

“There was no other way to stop her. We saw her fleeing the courtyard this morning….she was obviously quite injured which is what drew our attention to her in the first place. She had been partially gutted already by someone…..anyway when we approached she went on the defensive and transformed. We had no other choice but to stop her….”Arthur trailed off looking uncomfortable and a tad defensive.

She had been severely injured? From what Arthur described Freya was as good as dead already—with wounds like that, she would not have survived long. Suddenly the immense relief that Harry had felt previously was a distant memory. His mind kept flashing back to his own injured shoulder and the blood that was not his….

Just what had happened in that courtyard?-- he wanted to remember just what he had forgotten, yet at the same time, he knew that he would not like what he found if he did. He had no reason to fear the knowledge…after all Freya was obviously the culprit for the massacre….and if she was truly cursed it would not have been likely that he could have helped her in any significant way.

So why did he still feel so guilty?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: 
> 
> Chapter title: Is both a nursery rhyme (see below) and now a horror movie surrounding a case (august 1892) where Abbey and Andrew Borden where found hacked to death in their home and their daughter (who was known to hate her stepmother and father for marrying her) was accused of their murders. While acquitted of the crime in court—suspicion followed Lizzie border until her death many years later, leaving her to a ‘cursed’ life.
> 
> The rhyme goes like follows:
> 
> Lizzie Borden took an axe 
> 
> And gave her mother forty whacks. 
> 
> When she saw what she had done, 
> 
> She gave her father forty-one.
> 
> **I know that according to Wikipedia, Freya was actually raised in Druid society before her curse and later banishment—but I wrote her back story before I actually read the page so in this story I am changing the facts slightly ;) I do not think that this small change should have much impact on the overall flow of the story
> 
> ***again I am changing what happened in the cannon, if only slightly ;)


	12. Lavender's Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So first off I am sorry for how long this chapter took for me to get out. I am on out visiting family so that played some role in how long it took for me to write this...but still. My apologies!
> 
> I ended up dividing this chapter into two sections because it was just too long otherwise, so this is part one (both this and the next chapter will take place during the Merlin episode of Sweet Dreams). It follows that episode fairly closely though I do not write each scene so if you have not watched Merlin and are a bit confused as too events taking place I recommend googling it-wiki for this episode should help.
> 
> Anyway, read and review! hope you enjoy ;)

* * *

 

_"_ _I hate being replaced. I hate when someone likes you, then they meet someone new, and all of a sudden, you mean nothing at all."—unknown_

* * *

 

He knew that it had been the right thing to do, but still….he couldn't help but wonder what if.

Arthur had grown to hate what ifs….they had after all played a large part in his life—whether they were small little happenstances or large life altering alterations, they were still there. What if he had told his father what he really felt about chasing down and arresting a group of defenseless woman—just because one of Uther's advisors claimed they were witches? (The rumor that had run rampant for days before was that the same advisor had tried to get a bit frisky with one of the girls and she had turned him down. Arthur wanted to tell himself that it was just rumor, that there was no truth in it….but…). What if his mother had chosen not to go through with his risky birth? What if he had been born to a noble family instead of a royal one? What if….

Sighing in irritation at his leaden thoughts Arthur pushed himself away from the table moving to where Merlin had left out his newly pressed doublet. He felt his frown grow at the sight of the finery. It wasn't the doublet itself that he resented, no, it was what it represented. Or rather what he was expected to wear it for.

Was this truly his life now? An endless stream of commitments and responsibilities—each more tedious and trying then the last? He found himself tossing the garment aside and moving towards the window facing the courtyard, his eyes automatically drawn towards a slim, graceful figure. A small voice in the back of his head reminded him that it didn't have to be this way.

That it was his own fault for the dreary outlook on his future. He had after all, been perfectly happy and content last night…

_(Flashback-the evening before)_

_Arthur honestly didn't know what was wrong with him…..ok; that was a lie. He did know what was wrong with him and it went by the name of Henry Emrys. If the thrill and anticipation of what they were doing was not so pronounced, Arthur thought that maybe he might have been able to retrain a clearer head around the fey looking boy._

_As it was, that was not the case. He should know considering he was waiting like some kind of miscreant, hiding behind the farthest stable, in the dark, for Henry to arrive. Oh how the might have fallen…..to think that he, Arthur Pendragon, heir apparent to the Camelot throne, was waiting like a naughty stable boy for a servant…he was trying really hard not to think about what Uther would say if he knew…._

_Mind you there probably wouldn't be a whole lot of talking if that were the case-lots of burning or guillotining was more like it._

_He shook his head to get rid of such morbid thoughts as they made his stomach squirm (and not in the good way) and he could not escape thinking of the consequences should they be caught. Worse was the fact that the consequences would not be his to bear but Henry's….It made the doubting voice in his head ooze guilt at him. The thing was; that when he was with Henry, those doubts were completely gone._

_He had honestly never felt something so right as being with the other boy—even if it went against everything he had ever been taught; by his father, by the church, by society… It was only after they had parted that the doubt crept in and he started to second guess his choice to risk it all. But he couldn't quite bring himself to stop, Henry was addictive—in a way that Arthur knew he shouldn't be._

_He had heard knights and travelers speak of temptresses before. He had always scoffed at such silly notions—that there could be someone so desirable that they could make men forget their common sense, could steal their reservations replacing them with pure unadulterated need instead—now he knew better. Because despite the fact that Henry was decidedly not female (and that was one of the biggest hang-ups Arthur was having with this entire situation) Arthur wanted him. Oh, how he wanted him._

_And he was pretty sure that it was not completely one sided either._

_After the brief kiss Arthur had bestowed the apprentice, they had dipped and dodged, feinting around the fact for a good week or so before Arthur had finally had enough. And no matter how much he told himself that he should regret the fact after…..he just couldn't make himself. He just couldn't bring himself to tarnish that particularly spectacular evening in his mind. No matter how wrong he knew it was._

_They had continued to meet up, as they had before—only this time instead of working on Henry's fighting skills they worked on a whole different set of skills. Ones that Arthur personally found much more enjoyable. Still, they had been careful and surprisingly cautious despite the need burning in his veins. Outside of a few rather passionate snogs and a bit of over the clothes touching they hadn't gone much further._

_Arthur knew that it was more his hesitance then anything that had stopped them from doing so. In his head he was able to convince himself that because they hadn't done anything….anything really carnal, that it was still okay; that he hadn't gone and desecrated the laws of the church. Even if he knew that he was lying to himself-he could pretend._

_'_ _Plus' he reminded himself,' it could be worse. He could have been taking up with a witch or sorcerer….now that was something he was sure would be unforgivable'._

_The soft sound of footsteps approaching interrupted Arthur's increasingly maudlin thoughts, bringing a cocky grin to his face instead. Like he said—the doubting only ever happened when he was not with Henry….while they were together he couldn't be more sure that this was right._

_When the slowly fading illumination from the torch fell on the apprentice's face, Arthur didn't hesitate to move towards him. Not bothering with verbal greeting he backed the other into the wall, pressing his body against Henry's._

_Like a well honed instinct their mouths met, soft at first becoming increasingly forceful as the seconds passed. And this was why he kept coming back—regardless of the danger._

_The minty taste of Henry's tongue burnt, making Arthur want to inhale, consume the other if only to chase the sharp relief it brought. The few kisses he had shared with his other conquests (he tended to avoid kissing when possible—it seemed too intimate to be shared with someone who he was not planning on spending more than one or two nights with) had never been like this._

_They had been soft, sweet—overly sweet; the floral scent of perfumed baths and skin creams had always been too cloying, too suffocating. There was maybe one or two that he had kissed where he had claimed he had enjoyed it (later when talking with his knights)—but more because he knew he was supposed to enjoy it rather than honestly doing so. He had just never really understood the thrill behind such things…sure it was fine, pleasant even, but he had always found that a brisk, life threatening sword fight excited him more than a chance with some willing chambermaid. Regardless of her breast size._

_He hadn't really thought much of it until now. Until that first, all in all, rather innocent kiss. Because then he had understood. He had felt more alive in those few seconds then he could remember feeling at any point in his life—fighting included._

_He broke the kiss reluctantly when he felt Henry's grip on his hair tug a bit more insistently—likely trying to signal the need to actually breathe. Not that Arthur resented that fact, considering he was starting to feel a bit short of breath and light headed himself._

_They stood there, foreheads leaning lightly against each other listening to their own ragged breathing as much as the others for a few minutes. Finally, Arthur straightened up a bit, "Hey"_

_He felt as much as saw Henry's eye roll at his lame greeting, but the other man was smiling all the same. He shot a quick glance at their surroundings before diving back in for another kiss. One that Arthur gladly gave._

_(end flashback)_

Oh yes, he had been more then content for those few hours. Happy even-despite the conflicting head and heart that he possessed. Of course his father, Uther the supreme, had to obliterate the small amount of joy Arthur had finally managed to find.

The sad part was that he managed to do so without even being aware of the true situation.

_(Flashback—this morning)_

_"_ _Father?" Arthur asked when Uther had finally broken off the conversation he had been having with one of his men—Sir Heenl—if memory served him correctly. (Heenl was one of the few men of Uther's that Arthur didn't know that well. He was rarely at court, generally spending more time paroling the neighboring borders ensuring that Cendred did not get any ideas. What little Arthur knew of the deceivingly mousy looking man was that he was very effective at his job: Brutal and violent but effective._

_Uther's head shot around at the sound of his son's voice, "Ah Arthur….good, you are here. I have much to discuss with you" he stated before standing up from his thrown and moving towards one of the side-rooms. One of the many which were generally used for smaller political gatherings where the King wanted more privacy to discuss whatever he and his subordinates were conferring about. Arthur followed easily, both curious and worried over what his father could possibly want to talk to him about._

_Uther waited just long enough for Arthur to have entered the antechamber and close the door securely behind him, before getting straight to the point._

_"_ _I want to know where you have been sneaking off to lately"_

_Arthur felt the words like a hit to his stomach—he swore his heart literally skipped a beat as he tried to come up with a plausible excuse in a manner of seconds. Really, he thought a bit desperately, he had been horribly stupid for not to having expected this. It wasn't like his father (who generally was quite aware of what Arthur was doing or had planned for the day) wouldn't eventually notice his increasing absences. Had he actually used his head, he might have thought up a reasonable excuse long before this—and had it waiting and ready so that when what was happening right now occurred he wouldn't have been caught with his pants down._

_He mentally grimaced how closely that last metaphor was to the truth. He knew one thing; he definitely could not tell his father the truth._

_As the silence stretched and continued to do so—to the point that Arthur was sure that it was going to snap from the tension placed on it, Uther sighed; a sigh full of disappointment, irritation and perhaps even a bit of resignation._

_"_ _I already know Arthur. I had hoped, however, that you would have been man enough to admit to it yourself" Uther stated shaking his head in an almost mocking way._

_And if Arthur's heart had not already been beating furiously against his ribcage before, well it most certainly was doing so now._

_"_ _y-you know?" he managed to get out, coughing slightly before forcing his voice to steady. Hoping his father had missed the brief display of nerves. Not that he was all that optimistic….if his father had one talent, he was an absolute wiz at rooting out weakness in his opponents (and his opponents happened to be everyone outside of himself—even if it were his heir and only son)._

_Uther raised one of his bushy, soot colored eyebrows at Arthur, a look of distaste on his lined face, "Of course Arthur. What do you take me for? A fool?"_

_Arthur swallowed once more, feeling as though there was a swelling mass of something lodged in his throat, "Father…" he started out, his tone taking on a pleading quality that he detested. Desperate times and all…_

_"_ _Who is she? I was a young man once myself Arthur, so I understand that you may have….._ _**needs** _ _" he grimaced slightly before forging on, "and this is all well and fine my son. But I must ensure that you are taking precautions. Camelot cannot afford a bastard…..you do have a duty to the throne and you will be expected to carry out that duty by marrying a lady of good standing. One whom I have selected and thoroughly vetted"_

_Arthur's panicked thoughts came to a screeching halt—wait….she(?)-he had to stop the bark of laughter tinged with relief that wanted to escape from his slowly loosening throat. His father didn't know….everything was salvageable….Henry was still safe._

_Uther must have seen something change in Arthur's expression because he paused his lecture and let the corners of his mouth turn up in an uncharacteristic half smile, "I can be reasonable Arthur. I will not hold something so natural against you….you can have your fun, as long as you remember that it is just_ _**that** _ _; a bit of fun. I would rather not have a mess to have to clean up when all is said in done. For that reason I hope this girl is not a lady of any standing, I do not need to worry about offending any of the lords. A peasant girl or scullery maid is fine Arthur. Easy to take care of should she decide to try and cause problems but I'd rather not have to deal with it regardless….is that understood?"_

_Arthur nodded, trying to ignore the clenching of his gut and the tinge of horror and disgust he felt over his father's words and their implications—it was how he dealt with many things related to his father- instead focusing on the small silver lining in the situation. His father suspected a dalliance of a sort but he was still far off the mark, when it came to the truth._

_Not that that fact necessarily eased the guilt and worry that had been plaguing Arthur completely. He could not ignore what his father was saying….the reminder that Arthur would be expected to marry eventually—and not someone of his choice—weighed down heavily on him. He didn't want to think about it. Not yet….not when he had_ _**just** _ _found Henry….not when they had just barely started to explore what this…this pull…this strange chemistry between them was._

_He knew that the smart thing to do would be to back away and let Henry go….let him be with someone who could be wholly his. Someone who he didn't have to break about a billion laws (of both the church and nature) to be with. But he was selfish._

_He couldn't give him up…..at least not yet._

_There was still time though, he reminded himself. Uther did not know about them and Arthur was not expected to take the throne for many years yet….he would not have to get married yet. He could continue on with Henry for a little while longer….surely…._

_So caught up in his internal arguing he almost missed his father's change of topics—except it wasn't a change of topics; not really._

_"_ _You have been preparing for the Peace talks next week I hope?"_

_It took a second or two for Arthur's brain to catch up with their conversation but when it did, he gave yet another nod, "of course" It wasn't exactly true…..he had been meaning to read up on the various Kings and nobles who would be visiting Camelot next week. Their intention of discussing and negotiating a non-aggression pact between their neighboring kingdoms….something that Uther had surprisingly managed to bring about. As much of a bastard as his father was often purported to be, Uther was incredibly good at negotiating and convincing people to do what he wanted. He could be very charming….when he wanted to be._

_He silently vowed that he would begin to prepare immediately following this conversation. He knew the basics…._

_"_ _Good. I have a good feeling about this meeting…" Uther stated before shooting a sly look at his son, "My dear friend, King Olaf and his lovely daughter Lady Vivian, will be attending this time…..his kingdom has done very well for itself in the past few years. Anyone who managed to align themselves with him or….his daughter would be very wise indeed…."_

_The suggestion was so blatant that Arthur felt as though he would have had to be blind, deaf and stupid to miss it. He felt a small amount of bile rise at the very thought of 'aligning' with Lady Viviane in anyway. He had heard the rumors._

_Oh true, it was said that the Lady was exceedingly beautiful—but it was also said that her personality and intellect left much to be desired. Not to mention how overprotective King Olaf was said to be. No…definitely not worth it; even if he_ _**had** _ _wanted to find a wife….which he did_ _**not** _ _!_

_Arthur chose not to reply to his father's hint, instead pretended not to have picked up on it, "Of course father…..was there anything else you wanted to discuss? I am suppose to run through a few more drills with the fourth battalion*. They were a little slow during the last attack…" He knew that suggesting that any of the forces were not up to par would distract Uther and allow him the chance to leave._

_It worked of course._

_"_ _Yes….that was it. See to it that they are in fighting form by next week….these may be peace talks but it would not do to show any sign of weakness…..a strong front is the only way to negotiate so that Camelot will get what she needs"_

_Arthur gave a succinct half nod of his head, before hastily leaving the room. His heart still thudding unreasonably fast._

_He would stick to his resolution. He would not give Henry up….not yet. He would just have to be a bit more careful that was all. He still had plenty of time to come up with a solution that he could stomach._

_Because leaving Henry was_ _**not** _ _something that he could or would tolerate._

Shaking his head with a self mocking smile, Arthur couldn't help but let out a derisive laugh at just how foolish and naïve he had been. To think that he could have his cake and eat it too.** Still even knowing what foolery his thoughts and ambitions had been, he couldn't stop wishing that they had been plausible.

_(flashback: hour after meeting with Uther)—_

_"_ _Uuuggh…"Henry let out a low throaty groan as Arthur pushed closer to him trapping the other man against the rough bark, never once letting their mouths part._

_Arthur's lips curled into a self satisfied smirk at the noise, though he quickly pushed away his own satisfaction at being able to draw such a response in order to concentrate on revealing more of the deliciously muscled flesh on Henry's stomach. He felt more then saw the shiver that ran through the apprentice's body as he ghosted his fingers over the skin revealed, reveling in the smooth hardness._

_So unlike any of the girls he had been with, where there was always a soft delicacy—frames that Arthur had to hold back with, if only for fear of breaking. Not now though—despite the other man's petite size, he still had the compact muscles of someone used to hard work. There was a wiry tautness that Henry possessed that Arthur would almost believe, that if forced, Henry could take him—though that was just madness. No doubt a small delusion brought on by his currently raging hormones._

_They continued kissing for a while longer, both fighting to dominance before Arthur grudgingly relented and allowed Henry's tongue to enter and map out his mouth. He moved his hands almost hesitantly to caresses the skin just about Henry's breeches, unsure, but desperate to go continue their path down._

_They had never gone further than kissing, above the waist groping, and a bit of over the clothes fooling around—he was both terrified but determined to go further this time. The time limit of his father's words beating down on him, making every stolen moment feel that much more._

_He moved his thumb just under Henry's waist band waiting to see if the other man would protest or jerk away. When he didn't, Arthur knew that he had permission. Smiling slightly at Henry's disappointed hiss when he removed his hand, he hastily moved them to the front drawstrings determined to get rid of the restriction altogether._

_He had just started to fumble with the delicate lace (he mentally berated himself for letting Merlin do all of his dressing, as apparently it was now getting in the way of his sex life. Merlin had probably done it on purpose—he wasn't sure quite_ **how** _but he was reasonably sure that he had….) when the sharp crack of a twig got through his lust fogged brain, causing him to freeze._

_It was obvious that Henry too had heard it as the other man's body went still as a statue and his breath froze. It took a mere second before Arthur's brain restarted and he jumped back from Henry moving to grab hold of the other man's arm with the intention of dragging him behind the thicker patch of trees and bramble, only to find that Henry had already moved there himself._

_Arthur meant to follow only to realize that he was out of time and doing so would only further alert the quickly approaching person of Henry's current hiding spot. Instead Arthur hastily ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to hide its disorder, while also doing the same to his wrinkled shirt. He knew that it was still rather obvious to anyone with half a brain as to what he had been doing, but he hoped that he being who he was that they would not comment on it (or report it back to Uther)._

_When the figure finally materialized Arthur gave a start of surprise._

_"_ _M-Morgana?" well of all people to come across him this far out in the woods….he had not been expecting his adopted sister._

_It would seem that Morgana was just as surprised ( if not more so) to see Arthur standing in front of her, if the shocked look that flitted across her face before being replaced by the normal haughty disdain, was anything to judge by._

_"_ _Arthur. What a surprise. What brings you out to these parts…..I thought that you were busy training, or at least that was what_ _**Uther** _ _said"_

_Arthur paused momentarily, unsure at the vehemence he heard her speak his father's name with, but quickly dismissed it as having misheard due to his own nerves, "er….yes…I was…am. I am. I was just….just looking for a good spot for them to do some situational fighting in….yes" Arthur nodded secretly proud of how quickly he had come up with a plausible excuse._

_Morgana cocked an eye brow, skepticism apparent, "Situational fighting?" even while asking her keen eyes were scanning the area as though looking for the real reason Arthur was out here._

_His heart just about stopped when her gaze fell on one particular set of brambles, but after a moment and a slight narrowing of her eyes she looked back at Arthur expectantly._

_"_ _Yes….well, it is not like we are going to be fighting on a clear, flat field all that often. I thought that finding an area in the woods where they could practice attacking and defending while dealing with various environmentally wrought obstacles would be best…." Arthur explained glad that his voice was steady and sure, "What are_ _**you** _ _doing out here?"_

_The glare he received made it clear that Morgana's questions had been a failed attempt at deflection. "I wanted to clear my head….I thought a walk in the woods were called for"_

_Arthur had to give her props….Morgana's poker face was a work of art. Despite how ridiculous her excuse sounded, the firm way she gave it with the blank expression made him wonder if it might actually be the truth…._

_Deciding that he did not really care all that much about whatever it was that Morgana was up to, he just nodded in acceptance. "I see….well you are getting rather deep. It would ease my conscience if you would turn around and continue your walk closer to the guards and grounds"_

_Morgana looked like she was going to argue for a moment before deciding against it and giving him a curt nod. "You as well…I am sure your men are getting antsy all alone. You wouldn't want Uther to find them unattended, you know how persnickety he is on those kind of things" she advised, the hidden warning (threat) clear to both of them._

_He waited a few long minutes even after he saw her figure disappear into the mossy darkness of the trees before turning to where Henry was, no doubt, still hiding._

_"_ _You can come out now"_

_(end flashback)_

Arthur grimaced unintentionally at what had happened after that; his mind still trying to shy away from it as though that might make it less true. If only the scene could have ended there…. his heavy heart and churning stomach would not be so!

Sadly, that was just not how reality worked—no matter how much Arthur desired it so. Sitting, lamenting on the events now, Arthur can only blame a fit of fearful paranoia for the actions that he took next.

His heart pounding so loud that he could barely think (much less do so rationally) at having almost been almost caught by his sister (for—if they had been less fortunate it could have been someone who was far more loyal to Uther…. or far more curious) he had let Uther's words and his own doubts win out.

He had done then what he had vowed that he would not do—or at least that he had not had the strength to do prior, he had told Henry that this could not continue. Perhaps not those words exactly, but the gist of them had meant the same. True, he had not spoken cruelly when delivering them, far from that; they had been rather heartfelt and sensible…but the result was the same.

The brief flash of hurt followed just as swiftly by resignation in those green eyes had almost made him take them back (something now he wishes he had done, for the existence that stretched before him without Henry's company seemed far to bleak and forlorn), but he had held strong.

_"_ _Just a break—it, this is too dangerous…. can't you see that? If we—you were caught….we just need to take some time, get some space….maybe once I am King…"_

The half spoken pacifications had tasted bitter on his tongue even as he had spoken them. The distant, blank face of Henry nodding in apparent acceptance increasing it that much so. He knew right then and there that it would not have mattered if he had immediately realized his error and taken it back—the damage was done. The trust- or whatever variant of the fragile state- had already been broken between them. That staunch wall of protection and distance that Henry had brought with him to Camelot was once again as raised high.

Henry might nod and pretend to believe Arthur's unvoiced promises of 'someday' and 'just a break to sort out my thoughts, to come up with a safer option for us' but that was that it was—a false, contrived affect: nothing more.

Still they had both clutched to it—Arthur holding fast and stressing the sincerity of his words, even though he knew even as they fell that he was lying to both himself and Henry (something that Henry obviously knew as well). But he just couldn't bring himself to make a complete break—no matter how much cleaner and healthier it would have been. He knew that in a way it was rather cruel of him, to use words and future promises to keep the young man waiting for him when he knew deep down, that he would be waiting likely forever if Uther had his way (and Uther always did).

Yet he did it anyway. For as horrible and empty as he felt right now, he knew that it would be that much worse if he had severed any future hope completely.

With slightly shaky hands (which he ignored masterfully) he turned as he heard Merlin's bumbling gate enter his chambers. For a moment, surprise crossed his man servant's face (no doubt over the state Arthur was in—ashen faced, shaking hands…) before he expertly pushed it away (something that Arthur was rather appreciative of).

He would later deny it but he found himself grateful to Merlin, who for once had picked up on his unwillingness to banter or for that matter, have a conversation at all, and moved with uncharacteristic silence to where the cursed attire was lying.

A single questioning eyebrow was raised, to which Arthur nodded his consent to begin dressing him in it.

No matter how much he wished to skip the greeting of the arriving Kings, dignitaries, and their men, he knew that it was not an option. He allowed himself the time that it took Merlin to get him completely fastened in (which considering it was Merlin, was actually quite awhile) to wallow in his misfortunes before steadfastly burying any remaining regret.

He stiffened his spine and forced his mind to focus on the upcoming days and feasts—these talks were important, he could not allow his own personal drama to interfere with his duties to Camelot and his father.

After all, it was a lesson Arthur had learned very well over the years: duty came before everything:

Personal happiness included.

-o-

"…..fear for Camelot" the blond princess said tossing a disdain filled glance at where Gwen stood, before turning back to Arthur in clear dismissal.

Gwen grit her teeth and forced her already strained smile to remain in place. How dare she! Sure Gwen was not some high affluent royal—someone that Uther no doubt would love to see attached to his son's side—but that did not give the little witch the right to insult her to her face. Acting as if, just because, she was a servant she did not have ears to hear with!

This was the reason she so despised lords and ladies, outside of Arthur (who was in a entirely different class by himself…. Well, when he wasn't trying to please his ignorant father. Forgive her for her treasonous thoughts!) she had yet to meet a noble, or royal that was not putting on airs.

Though she could easily admit that Princess Vivian was bad even compared to the worst Gwen had encountered in Camelot….and that was saying something! Urg! Sure she was beautiful but with a personality like that….

At least from the clenched jaw and furrowed brows that Arthur was sporting, she was not the only one who was put off by the spoilt girl. And really, as long as Arthur didn't fall for the beautiful face then Gwen would gladly bare a few snide comments.

After all, she already had enough competition with regards to Arthur, without adding another suitor to the table! She masterfully ignored the voice of reason in the back of her head that stated she wouldn't have a chance even if the table were empty: One problem at a time and all that.

Bowing in false deference (because that was all that she could manage at the time) she backed out of the room and felt her heart swell as Arthur met her gaze and let out a low laugh. God how she adored this man!

Someone who could so easily dismiss class barriers to share a laugh with a servant girl. He was perfect.

And despite her earlier worries about his and Henry's growing 'friendship,' she could not bring herself to fret about it now, in this shared moment of mirth. Besides, she had two eyes—she could tell that the prince had been avoiding the slight teen and vice versa.

And as horrible as it sounded, that fact brought her no small amount of relief. The same kind of relief that came with Arthur's obviously contempt for Lady Vivian.

If this made Gwen a bad person, well so be it.

-0-

**(Majority of dialogue in the following section taken from Merlin episode: sweet dreams)**

Arthur did his best to ignore the tension that had been present lately between him and his manservant. He had only recently noticed that their normally easy going (yes there was plenty of insults traded but they were, for the most part, well meaning and in jest) relationship had somehow changed. There was an underlying sense of secrecy and awkwardness that had never been there before.

He could easily admit that this new tension was no doubt his fault—given that he had, until very recently, been sneaking off to dark corners in order to snog Merlin's not so beloved brother. But despite knowing that a lot of the eggshell stepping and avoidances were his fault, he didn't fail to notice that Merlin seemed to be doing his own share of it.

And if he were to be honest with himself, thinking back on his quasi friendship with his manservant this behavior had existed long before Arthur's contribution to it. Which brought to question—if Arthur was hiding his affair with Henry from Merlin, what was Merlin hiding from Arthur?

If anything, the new mystery helped distract him from his current woes and second guessing. Despite this, it was times like these, that Arthur missed the easy banter that had once existed. Now it simply felt forced. Still it wouldn't stop him from trying (pretending)….

"Merlin, what kind of impression do you think this gives?" he wiggled his thumb through a rather obvious hole in the jacket that Merlin had handed him minutes before. There, fall back on the easy reprimanding and insulting of his servant. He could do this…

Merlin paused in what he was doing (selecting the proper boots to complete the ensemble) to give the displayed garment a glance, "that we have moths?" he offered with a slightly sheepish look.

"Fetch me another" Arthur demanded, tossing it aside in an impatient gesture. It was exactly times like this that he became aware of how off balanced he felt around Merlin these days. Normally, he would have had a snappy retort or witticism for the servant, but now….

"And who might you be trying to impress, Sire?" Merlin asked, ignoring Arthur's demand—at least that part of his servant's behavior hadn't changed, not that Arthur was sure that was necessarily a _good_ thing.

Feeling slightly comforted by this fact, Arthur found his response come more quickly to him, "Well, let me see. Perhaps the five kings sitting in banquet hall below" –just the right amount of sarcasm too. Arthur gave himself a mental pat on the back.

Merlin, still standing there not doing what he had been ordered raised a skeptical brow, "Oh. Not the King's daughter, then? The Lady Vivian, she is very beautiful"

Oh….this was awkward. It wasn't as though Arthur could defend himself with the truth (Gee Merlin, nope. The Lady Vivian does not interest me in the least….your brother on the other hand….). Yeah best to avoid that conversation, the consequences would not be pretty-especially since he no longer even had the benefit of being with said brother to offset the negatives…

So he decided to just throw facts at his servant and hope that Merlin would have the sense to let the topic go, "Anyone trying to impress the Lady Vivian dose so at extreme peril. Oalf would have their head in a vat of hot oil before they'd have a chance to say hello…" –there that sounded reasonable but seeing Merlin's not sold face he decided to elaborate a bit, "Plus she's not my type. She may be beautiful but she's incredibly rude. You should have heard what she said to Gwen." –very good. Merlin was friends with Gwen, anyone who insulted her would no doubt be on the manservant's shit list….not to mention he had, not so long ago, held a fair degree of affection for her. If reminding Merlin of this—even if subtly so—helped deflect his recent attentions to Henry, well that couldn't be a bad thing.

Merlin muttered something that he didn't quite catch, "What?"

Merlin coughed before clearing his throat, finally handing him a different doublet, "Nothing. I just know how you feel about her, that's all. That is, if your feelings haven't _changed_ , as I p _resume_ they haven't"

Arthur wasn't sure if he imagined the accusation in Merlin's question or not, this was not the direction he wanted this conversation to go in. Because despite feeling slightly relieved that Merlin would assume that his new amour was Gwen, she wasn't all that much better then Henry in way of partner choices. The only thing she had going for her that Henry didn't was the fact that she was female. Both unfortunately were still servants; and therefore not possible choices for the Prince of Camelot. At least not according to his father.

"I do have my own vat of hot oil, you know" he threatened, half teasing, half not.

Apparently the teasing side was the part that Merlin picked up for his next comment was just as disrespectful and boundary crossing as most of his were (at least in the old days), "you're blushing!"

Again Arthur knew telling the truth would not be a good thing—he was not blushing, he happened to be red faced from nerves and lying….

"No I'm not" Arthur denied knowing it was no use. Surely Merlin would shut up soon?

"What's wrong with Gwen?" –apparently not. The gangly teen just _had_ to keep pushing and digging….

Arthur bit back a sigh, "nothing" he answered flatly holding out his arms so that Merlin could lace the front of his shirt properly.

"I think she's very worthy of your love" Merlin persisted. Arthur wanted to find a hard wall and beat his (or Merlin's—preferably) head against it. Honestly! Was there no line his manservant was not willing to cross? He knew he was being a hypocrite, considering just moments before he had wished for the old Merlin and all of his flippant attitude included. But right now….

"Indeed were it so" Arthur found himself answering, though it was not Gwen he was picturing.

"Which….it is" Merlin insisted.

Head pounding and stomach churning as his thoughts went once again to that horrible last meeting in the clearing Arthur decided that he had, had enough of this conversation. "Merlin"

"Yes, Arthur?" the teen asked chipper as ever (probably more so in the wake of Arthur's growing annoyance).

"Get out" Arthur grit out, barely restraining himself from grabbing one of the heavy brushes on the nearby table and throwing it at the man.

Merlin gave a startled little eep, before scurrying (though it looked a lot like skipping from Arthur's point of view), "Yes Sire"

Oh god. He was _so_ not in the mood for tonight….knowing his luck he would be sitting right next to Lady Vivian, waited on by Merlin, speaking distance from Gwen, and with an unobstructed view of Henry.

It was going to be a long night.

-0—

Gwen forced herself to pick her jaw up off of the floor, no matter how justified it was in being there. Had she not been present earlier to witness the interaction between Arthur and Vivian, she would have sworn that Merlin had been setting her up for some horrendously cruel prank.

She would not deny that when Merlin had tracked her down to tell her about his and Arthur's conversation—a conversation that had revolved around the Prince's feelings for her (HER!)—she had felt an immense swell of relief; Relief because her fears over Arthur and Merlin's brother had been entirely her own imagination running away with her once more. But now….

Well watching the Prince swoon and slather like an imbecile over the Lady Vivian, wasn't exactly lending credence to her reassurance. She would have thought that Merlin was completely off his head for suggesting that Arthur still harbored some unexpressed desire for her (hoped it really) but this attraction the prince was suddenly showing the visiting princess was anything but natural. _That_ she was sure of (she had seen the disdain he held for the winy bitch!).

So what the hell was going on?

The only small silver lining (as vindictive and vicious as it was of her) was the fact that obviously she was not the only one present who was stunned and a bit put off at seeing the Prince's display.

She wrinkled her nose in disgust as she watched Arthur offer the Princess some tasty morsel from his fork, beaming like a love stricken fool as the blond bimbo giggled and accepted—it was enough to make her want to vomit (or shove the fork through said princesses overly googly eyes; whatever worked).

"Excuse me, I think I will call it a night. I don't think my presence is needed any longer…."

Gwen wrenched her eyes away from the sickening display in front of her to look over at the speaker. Henry was not looking all too well at the moment. His normally pale face had a pallor that was even unusual for him, while his mouth was pulled back so tightly that the lips could be imagined nonexistent. Yes, if Gwen's had to bare heartbreak and disappointment, at least she was not the only one.

She almost regretted her thoughts when she caught his eyes however-the amount of hurt in them….well even _she_ was not that cruel. It made her pause. Had her previous fears about something going on between the Prince and the apprentice held some truth after all? She couldn't imagine that look in his eyes was over something the boy simply wished would happen…..it seemed to….potent.

No….surely not. She was being ridiculous. Sure she had feared something more going on between the two to some extent, but she had not truly believed it so….no, she was letting her imagination get away on her again. She gave her head a quick shake dismissing that line of thought from further contemplating sending the man a small, understanding smile before turning her attention back to the head table.

Half of her was jealous that Henry had the excuse and permission to leave so soon into the festivities….she (or Merlin for that matter) were not so lucky (being personal servants to two that were attending the bloody dinner required their presence for far longer than the normal/every day servants).

"What were you saying about my eyes, Arthur?" The nasally high voice of Vivian carried over the general din of the other dinners.

"My Lady, it is not your eyes which have captivated me….. looking into them I can see beauty, looking into your soul I see passion, looking into your mind I can see intelligence but it is your heart that has truly won me. For looking into your heart I can see the world" Arthur answered easily.

Gwen's teeth gnashed together as she picked up the wine pitcher to pour Lady Morgana (who was staring at her brother with a look made partially of confusion and amusement) another glass. Just a few seats down Oalf was looking rather red faced and pinched, while Uther looked decidedly nervous.

What the hell was Arthur thinking? –surely he knew that there were proper channels to go down if he wanted to woe the King Oalf's daughter (not that he did!). No. There was definitely something not right about all of this, not that she knew what or how it had come about….

What she _did_ know, was that this was going to be a loooong night.

(to be continued…..) ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter follows along the general outline of the original episode: sweet dreams. There are some changes (obviously). But the major parts—like Arthur and Vivian originally disliking each other, the kings coming to meet for a peace talk, King Alined having both Arthur and Vivian dosed with love potions in hoping of breaking up the peace talks (by having Arthur take the princesses virtue under the influence), Merlin mistakenly telling Gwen that Arthur is still in love with her did take place. Obviously Arthur does not still have feelings for Gwen but Henry, otherwise there are no major changes. If you are confused as to what is going on in the chapter I recommend wiki for Merlin. Hope that helps!


	13. Lavender's Blue: Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, sorry for the wait in for the second part of the chapter but in truth I feel like this story is starting to drag a bit. I have noticed quite a drop in reviews and normally this would not really effect my writing but as I already mentioned I already was feeling as though the stories pacing was a bit...lost. I have the rest planned out but as of now I am trying to decide whether to turn my attention to other projects and place this on the back burner for a bit or to forge ahead. I have not decided on which so if you-the lovely readers-have an honest opinion, I'd love to hear it. 
> 
> Any how here is the chapter, please please let me know what you think and whether or not I should continue focusing on this or not (let me just reassure everyone that even if feedback does cause this story to be shelved for a bit, it will get finished. just a bit slower that is all). Happy readings ;)

 

* * *

 

_“I see it all perfectly; there are two possible situations — one can either do this or that. My honest opinion and my friendly advice is this: do it or do not do it — you will regret both.” ―_ [ _Søren Kierkegaard_ ](http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6172.S_ren_Kierkegaard) _,_ [ _Either/Or: A Fragment of Life_ ](http://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/25733)

* * *

 

Merlin was not hiding.

He wasn’t (!), no matter h _ow_ it might appear. The fact that he was simply taking a different route to and from Arthur’s rooms and to get to his various duties (one that happened to avoid the paths that Gwen generally took) was completely coincidental.

Plus even if it wasn’t, he was pretty sure no one could blame him for wanting to avoid what was very likely a hurt, pissed off and scorned woman. Especially when one was the person who had only hours before ensured her that it was she that Arthur was pining over. Yeah….not the best thing he could have done with concerns for his health.

Not that he had intentionally set himself up for such a risk, after all he had thought (been almost certain) after speaking with Arthur yesterday, that that was the case. Sure thinking back on the aforementioned conversation he felt a small niggling of doubt over his assumptions—but still, it had been a very small niggling.

Arthur may not have exactly come right out and confirmed Merlin’s insinuations regarding his more than master—servant feelings for Gwen, but he hadn’t denied them either! True, he had seemed rather uncomfortable with the whole conversation, not to mention decidedly shifty (not that this new shiftiness was different from the way that the Prince had been acting for the past while—something Merlin was not entirely sure what to make of. It didn’t help that his brain couldn’t help but note that Arthur had started acting weird shortly after the appearance of Henry in Camelot…..) throughout, but Merlin had dismissed it as nerves because of his hidden feelings.

Now though….well, Merlin was being forced to wonder just what he had missed. Because after the sickenly sweet display he had witnessed at the feast last night, it was obvious that he had missed _something_.

Something that was not completely natural. Arthur may be a dolt a majority of the time and perhaps even a bit fickle then and again but even the blond prince would not make such an about turn in his feelings regarding the Princess. Merlin was still sure that Arthur had not been lying when he voiced his dislike of Vivian earlier in the afternoon.

So to go from dislike to all out adoration in the space of a few hours…..well there could only be one logical answer; magic.

Merlin wanted to find a hole somewhere to hide in and weep. Just how was he supposed to succeed in warming Arthur up to magic when all magic ever did was fuck with the Prince’s life?

Sighing at his bad luck, Merlin continued to make his way towards Gaius’s room. As part of the plan that he had been enacting (which had surprisingly been far less painful then he had originally feared it would be) he had plans to meet and help Henry with some simple brewing and bottling.

While the task itself was simple and painless, and even spending time with his half brother had been almost enjoyable as of late, he was still not looking forward to doing so today.

Merlin was not an idiot (no matter how Arthur claimed otherwise) nor was he blind. He had not missed the look on his brother’s face right before he had so hastily left the feast last night. And he could only draw one conclusion from it; Henry was in love with Arthur.

For such a shocking revelation it did happen to explain quite a bit about how much time he spent with Arthur…..not that it explained why the prince allowed it (And no! Merlin would not allow his mind to believe such a ridiculous notion as the prince returning his brother’s feelings! Because while it would explain far more and make everything fall into easily explainable boxes, it was just too….tooo….just no!).

So yes, while Merlin was getting along far better with Henry, even perhaps developing a smidgeon of respect or fondness for the frail looking boy, he was not entirely sure what to do with this new knowledge. Or how to feel about it.

Hence why he wasn’t up to seeing the teen.

His pause in steps lasted only a brief second before the dragon’s words swam to the surface of his brain as reminder. The looming warning of darkness and devastation was enough motivation for him to push through his own discomfort and continue forward.

He had fooled Arthur with his lies for over a year now…. surely hiding his confused feelings from his brother couldn’t be all that difficult? All he had to do was feign ignorance over the whole situation…..

It would be fine. He would do what he needed to in order to continue building the shaky trust that had been growing in Henry, then later, he could look deeper into just what the hell was going on with Arthur. Because regardless of who Arthur chose in the long run (although he was still telling himself that his brother was not one of those in the running) he knew that if Arthur went ahead and acted on his false feelings for Princess Vivian, everyone, not just Gwen and Harry would be in for a world of hurt.

\--o—

Harry gave the simmering brew—which was perhaps a tad darker then it was actually supposed to be, most likely due to his aggressive concocting—one more stir before moving back towards where he had been prepping various roots. The potion he was making could really hardly even be called such, what with being such a watered down and muggle version of the fever reducing one that wizards generally favored.

Still it was somewhat effective and it was the recipe that Gaius had instructed him to on so Harry would squash down his magical pride and make the poor substitution as ordered. Really, he wasn’t even sure why he was still sticking around Camelot these days.

It certainly wasn’t for _him_! Oh no, last night’s display had only confirmed what a naïve idiot he had been to get involved with the blond prince. He had known that he would get hurt doing so….that one way or another Arthur would let him down. He was almost more angered at himself for being so betrayed by the fact that Arthur had done just that, then the prince himself.

Really…what had he expected? Still he couldn’t quite banish the sting he had felt upon seeing Arthur slather over the blond tart right in front of him. Had he really meant so little to the prince? Apparently so.

He ignored the voice in his head that clung to the chance that Arthur might not have been completely himself last night. He had already been stupid for letting himself fall for the man in the first place, he would have to be a complete and utter moron to allow himself to be convinced that the blatant disregard Arthur held for him, wasn’t actually how the prince truly felt. It was such a school girl hope—one that Harry would not allow himself to feel.

He may have basically raised himself, but he didn’t raise himself to be a fool. The prince was apparently enough of that for the both of them.

So no, he really didn’t have much of a reason to stick around Camelot—the magical hating kingdom—any longer. It wasn’t as though Arthur wanted him anymore, and well….Merlin never had.

There was Morgana of course, but the girl had been drawing further and further away from him as of late and he got the feeling that she was keeping something big from him. Knowing his luck she was probably using him as well—for his knowledge rather than his body, true--but it still came down to being nothing but someone else’s tool. The more he thought about it, the more he felt like he should have already have packed up his belongings.

He sighed as a sharp knock interrupted his brooding, causing his head to shoot up to see his brother standing somewhat awkwardly at the door. Oh right…..he had mentioned coming to help Harry out today….

Harry was still somewhat suspect of his brother’s true motives but then again if this was the only chance he was going to have to get to know his brother even a little (especially now that the thought of leaving had taken root in his brain) then he might as well take it.

“Merlin….hi”

The tall gangly teen gave an unsure smile in answer to the greeting, “Hey…..um….did you still want help?.... with the potions I mean?”

Harry hid his smile at Merlin’s obvious nerves and gestured towards the cauldron already brewing, “Sure….I already have one going but I could use a hand with dicing and slicing if you are up to it”

A look of relief fluttered across Merlin’s face and he quickly moved over to pick up the knife Harry nodded at. Silence quickly descended between the two boys, only interrupted by the soft bubbling and nicking of knifes against wood.

Harry sighed quietly to himself as his mind drifted back to its previous subject. Maybe he would talk to Morgana….let her know he was going to take off. He knew she would probably stay here; not that he thought she really had an option what with Uther’s fatherly feelings towards her, but maybe he could offer to stay in touch or something? He wasn’t sure if that would interest her but even if she was using him he still felt a bit bad about leaving her with no one….

A dry cough drew his attention back to the present and he raised a brow at the nervous almost dance like fidgeting Merlin was doing. Obviously Merlin had something he wanted to ask….Harry was a bit surprised that his brother was holding back on actually doing so. It was almost as though he didn’t want to offend Henry….not that that made any sense considering how his brother felt about him.

“You can ask you know. If I don’t want to answer I won’t” he stated deciding to put the boy out of his misery.

Merlin’s pale features flushed with embarrassment, “o-er…okay” he took a deep breath before pressing on, “I was just wondering, I wanted to know…..Do you have feelings for Arthur?” the last bit was blurted out like steam escaping a suddenly opened pressure valve. Blunt and demanding. At least the deepening shade of embarrassment that followed showed that Merlin hadn’t meant for it to come out that way.

Maybe it was this more than anything that had Harry answering truthfully (though later Harry would suspect that he had really just wanted to talk to someone. No matter how that someone had treated him in the past, or how little he actually ended up sharing. Just acknowledging the truth out loud seemed to remove a previously unnoticed weight from him). “Yes” he answered just as bluntly as the question had been asked.

Merlin stood there gaping like a fish out of water. Despite asking, Harry realized that his brother hadn’t truly believed there to be merit behind his question. Or at least he hadn’t expected Harry to answer truthfully.

“Oh” was what he managed to croak back. “Er….does-does Arthur return them?” he finally asked after a long pause, hesitation and overwhelming curiosity coloring his words.

Harry gave him a flinty stare, “You were present last night. What do you think?” Harry deflected. He might have admitted his feelings for the man but he was not going to get into the whole drawn out saga that had occurred between the two of them. Plus he really would rather Merlin not know what a fool he had been. Or how Arthur had used and discarded him with such ease. His brother already scorned him enough without giving him additional material. Plus, some dirty laundry was just not meant to be aired.

An emotion flitted across Merlin’s face and if Harry had not known better he would have said it was understanding. Not that such a positive emotion geared towards him could possibly come from Merlin. The lanky wizard paused once again and seemed to debate on something before straightening his hunched spine and drawing a breath.

“I think Arthur is under some sort of compulsion or spell”

Harry didn’t manage to stop the snort that escaped him. He felt a cruel hysteria wanting to bubble over in him….life was truly a bitch sometimes. Here he was, just having convinced himself that his own thoughts of such were ludicrous and gullible, _and of course_ Merlin had to come along and say the same thing! It was like his brother had sensed the weak thoughts in his head and dug them out to present like some vicious mockery of a present.

And as much as Harry hated himself and his brother for them, he could feel the words burrowing down under his skin….what if……

No! no, he was not going to set himself up to be crushed again. Especially after having experienced it first hand from the very man not once, but _twice,_ just yesterday.

He felt his head shaking with desperate denial and prayed that Merlin would take the hint and just let him be.

How stupid he was.

“No listen. Something is not right. I spoke with Arthur yesterday afternoon and he specifically said he didn’t like Princess Vivian! And I _know_ Arthur, I would have known if he was lying about it” Merlin persisted his sincere belief that he was right shining brightly.

Harry wanted to snort at the statement. Because he knew for a fact that it was false. Arthur had been lying to his manservant, Harry’s brother, for months now and Merlin was none the wiser. He felt like telling Merlin this, watching his surety shatter like his brother had shattered Harry’s hopes and dreams so often before but held back. And for once it was not out of kindness but simply because he didn’t want to have to explain just why he knew Merlin was wrong. He didn’t want Merlin to know the truth, but he could see that he had to do something. Because that look of pure determination would not be deterred without solid proof.

And the only way to get solid proof that Arthur was not under some magical influence was to go along with whatever it was that Merlin had planned. He sighed, cursing himself even before he opened his mouth and said the words that would damn him.

Or at least force him to face Arthur again.

“Alright….I’m listening….”

\--o—

(**see end note)

The events that played out over the next day and a half were all a bit of a blur in the end. A blur that Harry wasn’t entirely convinced he wanted to stop and sort out when he finally had the time. Long story short—Merlin’s (and his own earlier smothered) suspicions of Arthur being be-spelled into loving the Princess Vivian turned out, surprisingly enough, to be true.

The most unexpected part of the whole mess was that it was not brought on by the Princess, her father or Uther, but by an entirely unrelated player. No one, certainly not Harry, had thought to suspect a political motivation behind the plot….thankfully King Alinend’s part in everything was revealed by the man’s own temper when he found his plans foiled, his own temper tantrum quickly detailed not only his own hand in events but his jester’s part as well.

No one outside of Harry was really aware of all the steps it took to foil the plans in the first place, although others—Merlin and Gwen included, knew bits and pieces; just not Harry’s own role in it.

When Merlin had previously spoken of his suspicions, Harry had gone along with it, not truly believing them to be true but the irritating snags of hope that refused to completely abandon him, forced him to at least investigate Merlin’s claims (not that he told his brother of doing so).

It was during a quick and dirty search of Arthur’s chambers (thankfully unseen by anyone) that he found the hex bag under the prince’s pillow. He made a quick study of the bag but left it in place for his brother to find (and with a few small nudges and hints, he knew that Merlin would discover the bag as he had).

It had been a series of convoluted steps to get things to work out how he had wanted to without implicating himself while doing so. Thankfully due to his own unwanted popularity back in the wizarding world, Harry had the not yet forsaken habit of always carrying powdered beazor with him (one of the most efficient antidotes to that annoying little potion known as Amortentia). Gambling that the hex bag worked similar to the dreaded love potion, Harry had simply placed it in a medicine vile, hidden it amongst Gaius’s other antidotes and glamoured a page in Merlin’s favorite go-to spell book to direct his brother to look for said powder.

Having played his part he had then stepped back and allowed Merlin to reach the conclusion he had been gently guiding the wizard too from the start. Finding and secretly administering the powder to not only Arthur, but the similarly befuddled princess.  

There had been a brief snag with things when Gwen had caught Merlin putting something in the prince’s wine—but his brother had been shockingly adept at talking himself out of a hot spot. Convincing the maid that it was not witchcraft that he was doing but the counter to an already cast spell (his brother had cleverly manipulated—though he was sure Merlin would claim it wasn’t manipulation—the girl by telling Gwen that this would free the prince of his false love and allow him to seek out the person he truly had feelings for. It most likely helped that the girl was under the impression that Arthur was actually in love with her—which Harry was miserable to admit he very might well be—and Gwen had not only kept silent but administered the Princess’s own antidote filled wine).

Despite the whole thing being nothing but a resounding success, with the prince left looking decidedly sheepish and embarrassed; Harry found his chest left strangely empty and cold when those blues eyes met his.

\--0—

It seemed as though it mattered little what common sense _should_ (and _would_ normally) dictate, Gwen felt the flutters of what could only be called hope spring to life at the Prince’s approach, regardless. She knew that having already been slighted in the way that she had been, her hope not only dashed but completely stomped and then spat on, that she should not be feeling the way that she was.

She almost, sort of hated herself for the traitorous emotion….but she had heard it been said that the mind and heart often did not agree and she could now steadfastly place her experience behind those that stated that the heart often won out.

It was partly Merlin’s fault for reigniting such feelings….he had, after all, convinced her (AGAIN) that it was only because Arthur had been under some sort of wicked spell that he had slighted her so. He had been so earnest with both his words and eyes in stating that he truly believed that Arthur did harbor feelings outside of what he had expressed, to and for her. The unspoken promise that the prince might even find the courage to seek out the one he truly wanted after the spell had been defeated hovered like the cruel sound of ocean to a shipwrecked prisoner.

Possibility and escape in full view but just out of reach.

Still, the small practical part of her brain told her too not leap yet, to wait and see what and how everything panned out, unfortunately she found it becoming quieter and quieter in the face of the Prince’s cerulean eyes.

Merlin had been right! Arthur had come to find her! (HER! Not the poncey little princess or the annoyingly gracious apprentice! But HER!)

“Ah…..Guinevere….” Arthur’s uncomfortable greeting shook her out of her premature fantasies, “how are you?”

Gwen was slightly taken back by just how awkward Arthur appeared in her presence but then she suppose that after the embarrassing display he had put on over the past few days that she could understand his uncertainty. She was not such a push over that she would immediately swoon at his approach without demanding so much as an apology for the (wrongly assumed on her part) not kiss**.

Steeling her beating heart she infused as much ice as she could into her tone while still keeping it appropriately polite, “Fine your highness, and yourself?” –there no one could miss the clear ‘I am not pleased with you’ vibe she was sending out.

Or maybe they could—at least Arthur seemed to be completely oblivious to the fact. In fact he seemed more then oblivious to her anger but completely uninterested in her what-so-ever, judging by his distracted manner and the way his eyes kept skirting her to scan the area.

What the…..?! this would _not_ do!

“Did you need something your highness?” she asked, the question snapping out like the whips that the traders used on their poor overworked steeds.

A look of surprise followed by one of relief flitted across the royal’s face and for the first time since the conversation had started he turned his full attention on her. She felt her breath catch in her chest at feeling Arthur’s eyes fully aware on her face. How was she supposed to stay mad at this man when he possessed such powers?

“Yes actually!” Arthur said the urgency making him seem almost a tad frantic, Gwen drew in a breath….this was it! This was when Arthur finally admitted his feelings….or at the very least hinted heavily at them…..any second now.

“….ry?”

Wait, what?

Arthur was staring at her, a ill hidden impatience in the lines of his eyes as silence and not the answer to whatever the question he just asked followed.

“Pardon?” –she didn’t want to jump to conclusions but that had sounded a lot like he was asking her to….well what else ended with the ‘ry’ sound? But still, that was even a bit fantastical for her imagination. She forced herself to pay attention when he opened his mouth to ask for the second time.

“Have you seen Henry? I really need to find him….”

And just like that her world crashed and burned before her. She shook her head no as she valiantly tried to keep the pure despair (not to mention disappointment) she was feeling at having her hopes and heart crushed in one sentence from showing on her face. She must have done a fair job as Arthur’s own shoulders sagged with his own disappointment and he muttered some sort of good bye (she couldn’t quite concentrate on what it was in truth) before moving along, leaving her there in the courtyard completely and utterly alone.

She didn’t know how long it took, but one could only survive the torrent grief of losing a dream for so long before something snapped. And that something did snap.

It snapped and made way for a whole other maelstrom of emotion: it was one that she was already rather familiar with. One that she welcomed with open arms and a twisting gut of anticipation:

_Hello Anger._

\--o---

(Two days previous)

Annoyance pulsed through her with every increased heart beat as Morgana sped her pace. The hurried step was now a necessity thanks to her irritating brother—if he had not so inconveniently been doing whatever it was that he had been doing in the woods, just as she happened to be trying to pass through that wooded area, rushing would not now be necessary.

Though even as she was forced to keep up the appearance of heading back towards the castle before taking a long loop around and back away, she couldn’t help but wonder just _what_ Arthur was up to. She didn’t buy for a second that he was ‘looking for training options’ or whatever other bullshit he claimed.

She was far from the naïve, unsoiled little girl that Uther no doubt liked to kid himself she was, she knew what a roll in the bush looked like and well…..Arthur had definitely been doing some rolling. The question was not _if_ he had been, but _who_ he had been doing it with.

Normally she would have just assumed it was one of the many palace girls who were dying to get into her brother’s bed—or even one of the ladies of court (for even thought they were of noble status they were just as eager as the serving girls were, if not more so) but the intense nerves that had been wafting off Arthur like a beacon shouting ‘guilty’ loud and clear, made her think otherwise. The thing was she wasn’t sure just who would elicit such a reaction from the Prince. After all, he was a prince, which meant he could get away with just about anything…..

Whoever Arthur had been fooling around with had to be someone that broke more than just the societal constraints of lord and servant. It was all very curious.

Sadly, she did not have much time to interrogate her brother or even ponder the incident in depth, no….she was rather distracted with the reason she, herself, had been racing through the woods in secret. She was late.

And Morgause did not appreciate lateness….no matter who from.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title: Comes from the Children’s rhyme Lavender’s Blue—
> 
> Lavender blue and Rosemary green,
> 
> When I am king you shall be queen;
> 
> Call up my maids at four o'clock,
> 
> Some to the wheel and some to the rock;
> 
> Some to make hay and some to shear corn,
> 
> And you and I will keep the bed warm.[1]
> 
> The lyrics printed in the broadside are fairly bawdy, celebrating sex and drinking. It should be noted that there are actually several different versions of the song/rhyme in existence but they all generally refer to the same thing.
> 
> ***During the actual episode there was a whole almost jousting challenge between Arthur and princess Vivian’s father. Not to mention a true kiss from Gwen but I am obviously making a few major changes. Thing that did remain the same are as follows: King Alinend had his jester jinx Arthur and the princess to fall in love in hopes of causing a conflict between her father and Uther—thus destabilizing peace attempts. Arthur making a general fool of himself over his false love. Gwen getting slighted because of Merlin believing that be-spelled Arthur had been referring to his love for Gwen not the princes during their talks. The rest is basically what I have listed in the chapter. If you are confused feel free to write me and I will try to explain it better! 
> 
> **In the original episode Gwen kissed Arthur thinking it would break the spell. In my version she had expected to kiss him (as Merlin would have originally tried to break the spell like he had in canon—with true love’s kiss, before discovering Harry’s glamoured instructions to use the beazor dust) but never received said kiss. Hence the NOT kiss mentioned.


	14. One for Sorrow: Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! sorry for the longer then normal wait...I was not happy with teh outline I had written out for this story and had to go through it and make a few key changes. Because of this, this chapter is sort of filler-acting as a bridge to get to the next few chapters where things will finally start to happen and get the plot moving along. Hopefully it is not too horribly boring! 
> 
> Anyway read and enjoy...oh and review pretty pretty please ;) (ps this chapter is divided into two parts similar to Lavender blue, this is part one)

* * *

 

 _“A secret's worth depends on the people from whom it must be kept.” ―_ [ _Carlos Ruiz Zafón_ ](http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/815.Carlos_Ruiz_Zaf_n) _,_ [ _The Shadow of the Wind_ ](http://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/3209783)

* * *

 

When he had been a young boy, listening to his father’s wise words woven and delivered in the form of fantastical stories and tales, he had never once questioned whether or not he would become the hero or the villain of such tales.

Of course when one was a child, hero vs. villain was still a black vs. white concept with easy to find morals and a simply understood definition of evil and good. True life, it turns out; was not quite so simple.

At least that was what Mordred had learnt over the past few years*. The same years that had made him question whether or not there really were such things as villains or heroes in real life. Perhaps there were only winners and losers…..

And Mordred had decided long ago, after watching his father pay with his life for a crime that he had never committed or shouldn’t have even been labeled as a crime to begin with, that he would not be the final loser in this story. He would be on the winning side….even if that meant siding against those he had once counted as allies.

If Emrys refused and continued to refuse to do the right thing, not for Arthur, but for those who were being persecuted for their gifts, well then, Emrys would no longer be regarded as the legendary figure held up in shining awe but would become the enemy instead. An enemy that needed to be crushed and disregarded like all enemies were. If that meant temporarily working with people such as Morgause….well so be it.

The task he had been given was simple enough….in truth, it wasn’t even a task that he really minded. Morgana after all had been nothing but kind and motherly towards him, and if Morgause wanted him to influence her views and bring her over to their side, ‘ _the winning side_ ,’ well then it would be his honor to do so. It was a shame that doing so, meant turning her against Emrys and Arthur, but he had watched from the shadows for months and it was clear to him that both were far to lost under the power of Uther to ever truly become assets to Magic’s fight.

He still held some hope that they would see the light before it came down to death and war but sadly it was a small smidgeon of hope. He could not afford to waste too much time on either of the men….not when there were other, far more influential and important players to concentrate on.

And no; oddly enough he was not referring to Morgause or even Morgana—no matter how important (or so they thought) they were in this fight.  

And wasn’t that a surprise? That a new, and virtually unknown player would show up in Camelot with powers (admittedly still not completely understood or known) that could make or break their side. The even more ironic part was the fact that he was apparently Emrys half brother, and that Emrys himself—prophesized the strongest warlock of the century—had no idea that his own kin had magic at all!

If that wasn’t a clear sign that the prophecy of Emrys greatness was flawed, well Mordred didn’t know what was.

He had spent the last four days trailing (at a distance of course, it would not do to get caught by the unassuming warlock) Henry Emrys, trying to gauge how best to approach the man and he was no closer now than before to reaching a decision.

He had heard rumors that Henry was close to the prince, yet he had yet to see an evidence to say the same. Still, he had not survived his childhood by being foolish or hasty….just because he had yet to witness any relationship between the two did not mean that it did not exist. What he had been able to garner from his observations was that the boy was strong.

And not the typical kind of strong that Morgause or even himself embodied, but a different, possibly unstoppable type of strength. It was no question that Mother magic favored the young apprentice.

The question that remained was whether or not the young warlock would return her favor?

Mordred could be patient. He would wait to make his final judgment on the man. And then he would go to Morgause…and Henry would be brought in, or taken out. The choice was his really….hopefully, unlike Emrys, he would make the correct one.

\--o—

“I need you to do this for me Morgana”

Morgana just barely held back her urge to cringe at the wheedling, cajoling tone that Morgause had taken. She hated when her sister did this…..

And yes, she could hardly believe it either when she first found out. She had a sister—well half sister (which was the same thing really), what was important was the fact that she had family outside of her adoptive father and Arthur….she had a sister.

A sister who had been ripped away from her—had been denied growing up beside her by the same man who proclaimed to love her like his own blood. It always came back to him, no matter how Morgana tried to open her mind and excuse him…..it was always _Uther_.

 _Uther_ was the cause of every wrong ever done to her; _Uthe_ r was the one who persecuted those like her, whose prejudice forced her to hide….forced her friends and family to hide in fear for their lives. If there was no Uther then Mordred would be safe, Henry would be safe _,_ Morgause would be safe _, she_ would be safe.

Life would be so much better without the current king of Camelot. If she had to do a few unscrupulous things in order to make that happen….well it was for the greater good, wasn’t it?

And usually she could reconcile Morgause’s ideas and plans in her head, knowing that while some might seem harsh or even evil….they were needed; A necessary evil. But this time…..

This time she was having trouble.

The task itself that Morgause asked of her, was really not all that bad, no, the reason why she was hesitating was because it involved someone she respected. Someone who had done nothing but help her so far….she wasn’t sure whether or not she was ready to stab him in the back for that.

“Please Morgana we need to know what side he is really on. Who will he support when it is time to place bets? If he is as true and noble as you say he is…. if he is a true son of magic, then you have nothing to fear! You will be simply confirming what you suspect. But if he is with Uther….if he turns out to be like your traitorous half brother Arthur, then we need to know. He is powerful and because of this he either has to be with us or we have to eliminate the threat he poses” Morgause continued, making sure to keep steady eye contact with her waffling sister. She needed Morgana to do this. It was the best chance they had at finding out whether or not Henry Emrys would be a threat or not.

She was after all rather close to the apprentice. Not that you would know that considering how little information about him Morgana had parted with so far. She didn’t know whether or not Morgana simply didn’t know anything about her alleged friend or if she was being purposefully evasive.

Neither option was what Morgause considered good.

She needed to shake her sister up, make her question her loyalty to the boy….at least enough make her agree to spy on him. They needed more information after all, and she was their ticket in.

“I want to believe for your sake that he is who he says he is Morgana…..I do” Morgause started again, being careful to keep her inner—less charitable—thoughts from showing on her face. “But what do you really now about him? Where did he come from and what is his real reason for being here?”

Morgana looked as though she was going to offer up a protest in her friend’s defense before pausing. Morgause watched the assuredness wilt out of the witch with well concealed glee, moving to place a sympathetic hand on her sisters frail shoulders as they slumped in defeat.

“I don’t know….” She finally admitted quietly keeping her eyes directed at the ground, not willing to meet her sister’s knowing gaze.

“Well….in my travels I have heard things sister. Ominous things, fanciful things, ludicrous even…..and I have heard stories about a boy—man out there….one whose physical description matches surprisingly well to your new friend….” Morgause began letting her mouth curl at the corner when she noticed Morgana had stilled and leaned forward as though anticipating her next words.

“This boy I have heard about…..well according to some circles-- and not the socially polite ones at that-- he goes by the name of Myror”

\--oo—

“…followed by the third shift, which once again, reported that there were no disturbances of note and all were secure.” Arthur finished dutifully relaying the last 48hours worth of surveillance and security to his father.

Uther continued to focus almost solely on the egg soaked sweet bread in front of him, not so much as twitching to show that he had heard, let alone listened, to Arthur’s report. Arthur fought not to show his irritation just barely keeping himself from grinding his teeth together.

Finally after several long drawn out minutes, Uther finally deemed the suspense ‘built up’ enough, pushing his breakfast plate back with a grimace of disgust and a muttered complaint before allowing his gaze to fall on his impatiently waiting son. He waited for another long few seconds to pass, taking his time to study the young man in front of him—not at all worried about his heirs growing annoyance. He was king after all; everyone, including the crowned prince, adhered to his schedule… _not_ the other way around.

He found himself mentally frowning at the picture Arthur presented because while yes, Arthur was as well dressed and put together as ever (that in itself a damn miracle considering how useless his son’s manservant was) there was something all together off about the boy. Uther noted the shadowed groves under Arthur’s eyes—a clear sign that the boy was not sleeping well or long enough—and how any sign of joviality was absent in the prince’s expression.

Many might accuse Uther of being an uncaring, hard, and selfish man, father and king—and for the most part, they would be right. That did not mean however that he did not love or care for his children….at least in his own way. He may not show it, but he kept tabs on Arthur and Morgana; true, sometimes his duties and work stopped him from keeping as close of tabs on them as he would have liked, but he was still observant enough to note when something was truly wrong with one of them (and yes, he was aware that Morgana had been more and more out of sorts as of late; but for the time being he was writing it off as some sort of ‘coming of age’ rebellion on her part). And there was no question about it, something was wrong with Arthur.

At first he had put it down to the whole Princess Vivian debacle (something that had, without a doubt, further proven just how devious and dangerous witchcraft was to everyone involved!). He figured that despite the fact that Arthur had been magically induced into loving the girl that the fact that he had felt so deeply (even if false) for her had to have unnerved his heir. He had done what he could to avoid bringing the subject up further (no matter how much he wanted to turn it into a lecture—Arthur and the little twit _had_ almost ruined peace negotiations after all!) hoping that time and distance would lend the young man a bit of perspective.

However so far that had not happened. If anything the routine that he had assigned Arthur (to help him get back to his norm) had only further exacerbated the prince’s unhappiness. Because the boy was unhappy; deeply so, no matter how he tried to hide it. It left Uther in a bit of a bind.

He was not quite sure what he was supposed to do to help his son get out of the self dug pit. He knew that his beautiful wife, had she still been alive, would have known exactly what to do and say to help her son. Sadly however, Igraine was long since dead—he had magic to thank for that—and Uther was left quite alone to try and deal with his child’s depression. Or not deal with it as it was.

“Very good….it would seem that for the time we have gotten the message across. Hopefully the damn sorcerers will finally head our warnings and quit dallying with their demons. Are you quite alright Arthur? You look tired….” Uther stated matter of factly, letting no true emotion or worry seep into his voice. He might care about his son, but he was not about to become an effusive, blubbering sap about it for god sake!

Arthur’s blinked—the only show that he was taken aback by his father’s comment—before his former mask of polite indifference fell into place once again, “of course father. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Uther allowed himself the small tell of pursing his lips as he scrutinized his son—not bothering to hide the fact that he was doing so—before giving a concise nod and turning allowing the topic to drop.

“Very well….if that is everything?” he asked his tone once again indifferent and cold.

“That’s everything father” Arthur replied back his voice mirroring Uther’s.

“Good….why don’t you take the rest of the day then. I have no further duties that need you to oversee…go out and see that, your….well, go and spend some time with that serving girl of yours then Arthur. It might do you some good…” Uther stumbled slightly, before giving up trying to be elusive and just coming out and saying it.

Again, Arthur’s eyes widened in surprise, though this time instead of falling back into his obedient son mask there was a trace of anger and despair before that too was gone.

Hmmm….something for Uther to ponder later….

“Thank you father. Perhaps I will take your suggestion into consideration”

Uther watched as his son spun on his heels before quickly retreating from the dining hall, his haste to get out of the room evident in his quick strides.

Yes….very peculiar. Uther would definitely have to think on this later. For now though….he had a servant to berate.

The eggs were truly despicable.

\--oo--

Arthur didn’t allow for his pace to slow until he was half way across the castle. He didn’t allow himself to think until he was double that. Damn Uther, damn the dull, monotonous peace that the kingdom had fallen into, and d _ouble_ damn Henry.

And yes, he was aware of how completely unfair and hypocritical of him it was to think the last one. After all it was _he_ not Henry who had come to the stellar decision of ‘distance,’ it was _he_ not Henry who had made a complete fool and ass of himself by tripping over Princess Vivian shortly after said stellar decision (even if the latter was not completely his fault; he had still done it), and unfortunately it was he _and_ Henry who seemed to be paying the price.

At least he selfishly hoped so. After all if it were only he who was pining over the distant apprentice then their past tryst had not meant what he hoped it had meant to the other man. So yes he did, however selfish and cruel it made him, hope that Henry was missing him just as much as he was missing Henry.

Because if that were the case, perhaps someday (not soon, no matter how much he wished it so) Henry would forgive him for his stupid ideas of right and wrong and take him back. Maybe someday, he would be able to make up basically tossing Henry aside. At least that was what he was trying to convince himself.

For now though, for now, he would have to suffer the consequences of his actions and continue to watch and want from a distance: both which he had found himself doing quite liberally as of late. The biggest issue was that denying himself any true interaction with his obsession had done nothing to improve his foul disposition and it was apparently starting to show (after all even Uther had picked up on it!).

It was obvious that this current method of coping was falling short, and the only solution to the problem that it presented was to change his method. One did not stick with a losing strategy and come out a winner.

No, he needed to be more to Henry then just a silent observer (stalker—he was sure Morgana would call it, though he would deny that fact) but as previously mentioned he could not expect to go up, apologize to Henry and resume what they once were. And even if Henry would instantly forgive him and take him back, the reasons for their spilt had not miraculously disappeared. It was no safer now, then it had been then for them to be together.

But that did not mean that he couldn’t spend time with the man….he was friends (of sorts) with Merlin after all. Why shouldn’t he be allowed to have the same with Merlin’s brother? They could be friends without exposing the green eyed tempter to peril….

That is if he could convince Henry that friendship was still possible. Though after the events of the past few weeks he had a feeling that that would be a much more imposing challenge then it initially appeared.

But Arthur had never been one to back down from a difficult task--- no if anything, a challenge just made him try harder. And harder he would try; though he knew that he would not be able to achieve his goal without some form of outside help.

Step one in Mission get Henry back (as a friend!!! He forcefully reminded himself…a friend!), find Gwaine.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: 
> 
> *Mordred is older in season two then he was in the canon….closer to the age of 14 or 15 then 8 or 10 like he was in the series canon.
> 
> Chapter title: taken from the nursery rhyme One for Sorrow.
> 
> One for sorrow,
> 
> Two for joy,
> 
> Three for a girl,
> 
> Four for a boy,
> 
> Five for silver,
> 
> Six for gold,
> 
> Seven for a secret,
> 
> Never to be told.
> 
> Actually thought to have its origins in superstitions connected with magpies, considered a bird of ill omen in some cultures, and in Britain, at least as far back as the early sixteenth century


	15. One for Sorrow: Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! so here is the next chapter...and it wasn't even that long of a wait (yay me!) Thank to everyone who took the time to review, every word is very much appreciated! Things continue to unravel. Let me know what you think!

* * *

 

 _And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don't believe in magic will never find it.”_ ―[ _Roald Dahl_](http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4273.Roald_Dahl)

* * *

 

Merlin allowed the noise and revelry surrounding him to swell past untouched as he nursed the same drink he had been sipping all evening. He was content for the time to sit back and observe the chaos taking place—it allowed him time to try and make sense of what he had been, and still was for that matter, witnessing.

For once he wasn’t pulled reluctantly into a drinking game with Gwaine, or forced to deal with Arthur’s poor judgment and rather lame jokes at his expense, because, for once, their attention was completely focused on someone else. And even more surprisingly, Merlin couldn’t find it in himself to resent that fact; or even the person at the center of it all.

When Arthur had cornered him (ok, not really cornered since he had been basically following the prince around—not by choice mind you, it _was_ sort of part of his job description) and basically ordered him to come with; insisting that a night of drinking and fun was what everyone needed, he had gone without too much of a fight.

He hadn’t missed the not so subtle hints that he should invite some of his own friends---or rather his brother either. Though he had pretended not to pick up on them (partially because he wasn’t sure what he was suppose to say or acknowledge in regards to his brother and Arthur’s strange and not completely understood relationship and partially because it amused him to watch Arthur’s irritation grow with his feigned obliviousness—he could be petty like that).

Despite not acknowledging Arthur’s odd hints (because as he had mentioned before, he did _not_ understand what was going on between the prince and his half brother. Oh, he knew that Henry had a crush on the prince… at least he was pretty sure he did, but he hadn’t quite figured out where Arthur’s interests lay with regards to his brother. At times he could swear that they were the same as Henry’s, yet that idea seemed far too ludicrous. Plus last he had understood Arthur was still pining for Gwen….so yes, still a little confused in truth), Henry had shown up at the tavern.

Of course it appeared that he was there under duress if the manner in which Gwaine pulled, pushed and basically shoved the smaller man towards their table was anything to go by. Merlin knew that no one, especially not Henry had bought the surprised, “oh! Look there’s Arthur and the rest of the guys! We should go and join them” line that had spilled out of Gwaine’s oh-so- innocent eyes (if there was something that Gwaine was definitely not, it was innocent).

Unfortunately for his brother, by the time that he had gotten his brain working enough to make a renewed attempt at escape, it had been far too late and he had forced into a seat between Gwaine and Orvelle, with no room to move. Merlin had actually pitted the man, considering how very uncomfortable he appeared at being there. And he was pretty sure that it wasn’t due to the knights’ presence.

“Meeeerlin fetch some more drinks would you?” Arthur slurred/ordered hoisting his still full mug up.

Merlin sent the sloshed prince an annoyed glare and was just about to refute his order when another voice interrupted.

“I’ll help!” and just like that Merlin was being dragged away from the rowdy table of knights and towards the bar by his fairly drunk half brother. Who despite being sloshed, looked far to relieved to have escaped the intense staring contest he had previously been having with said prince—even if only momentarily.

As they stood side by side waiting for the barman to free up, silence stretching between them, Merlin debated on what he should say. He knew that the best choice would be to remain silent—he might not be tipsy but his brother certainly was and it was never the best idea to try holding a meaningful conversation when one half was having trouble standing without swaying—but when had Merlin ever listened to common sense?

Plus over the last few weeks, with the increased time he had been spending with his brother, (something that he was feeling increasingly guilty over—mainly because of why he had started to do so) he had (reluctantly) come to admire and even respect the younger man. He had never thought when he had started his scheme that he would actually come to not only tolerate Henry but actually like him.

But he had; and now he wasn’t sure what he should do about it.

With every trip around Camelot, every potion helped brewed, every awkward but familial meal shared he found the resentment he had harbored because of the past had lessoned and the fondness because of _who_ Henry was had increased. It was to the point where Merlin caught himself thinking of Henry as a friend, one who he hadn’t just befriended to manipulate and use.

And it was eating him up inside.

He had even considered just telling Henry everything—just pulling him aside and admitting his less than stellar intentions, confessing and bearing his soul. It had to be better than letting the guilt continue to fester. But then common sense would kick in again and he would remember all the reasons why he couldn’t tell Henry the truth (him not knowing about magic, completely ruining the shaky friendship they had managed to build so far, and having to admit to consorting with the illegal dragon beneath Camelot, were just a few of those reasons).

So he swallowed down his doubts and continued on. But that didn’t mean that he couldn’t look at his brother in true friendship now. He knew that he may have started the whole ‘get to know you better’ thing because the dragon insisted, but that didn’t necessarily mean that he couldn’t continue it because he actually liked spending time with his brother. How or why it started shouldn’t matter in the end, should it?

Merlin didn’t know and that bothered him.

Regardless of why he continued to get closer to his brother he felt that he owed him, at the very least, a bit of frank honesty (not about him of course…but about Arthur). If he could help protect his sibling from even a little bit of heartbreak down the road, well then, it was sort of making amends…wasn’t it? At least it would be a start.

Which was exactly why he decided to ignore the little voice telling him to keep his mouth shut and turned to Henry instead.

“Hey Henry….can I ask you something?” he found himself blurting out—thankfully fairly quietly.

Henry’s slightly bleary green eyes swung towards him, blinking a few times as though he was trying to make sense of what Merlin was asking him. After a moment and several more slow motion blinks he nodded his head, the motion overdone and causing him to stumble slowly before regaining his balance, “shoot”

Okay, maybe the man was more far gone then he had previously thought if he was answering in words that made absolutely no sense in the given context. Why would he shoot? Bizarre…. Merlin shook off his momentary pause and decided to wager forth, taking the way that Henry was staring at him expectantly as permission in itself.

“I…um….ok, so I’m not really sure how to ask this so I will just come out and say it…..I know”

Merlin wanted to hit himself in the head. He had no idea why it had come out like that….what he _had_ wanted to ask was what was going between Arthur and Henry, he had wanted to help ease the way by letting Henry know that he already suspected his crush on the prince and that he wouldn’t judge him on it (well _too_ harshly…it was Arthur after all. He may have only recently started to like his brother but he had hoped that Henry would have had better taste then Arthur. The man could be an utter prat; and yes he was ignoring the hypocrisy of him saying that about anyone else). Sadly his mind-mouth filter had not improved any since arriving in Camelot.

He forced himself to turn his attention back to the man in front of him who was staring at him with far more lucid eyes, his face an ash grey. “KK-know what?” he asked-or rather squeaked out, turning his entire body back towards the bar searching for the barkeep. If he thought he was going to get out of this long coming conversation through interruption well, he had another thing coming.

“I know about you and Arthur” Merlin stated a tad more forcefully as he placed one hand on Henry’s shoulder to keep him from turning away completely. And again—that did not come out how he wanted it to….oh well; too late for regrets.

“I-I don’t know what you are talking about” Henry managed to wrench his shoulder from Merlin’s grip, looking equal parts embarrassed, scared and angry.

The emotions playing across his face gave Merlin pause but he once again shrugged mentally, contributing them to the fact that Henry was ashamed of having his crush recognized for what it was. He hadn’t meant to turn this into something nasty….no, he had just wanted to let Henry know that he didn’t have to be completely alone with this.

Sure, his past behavior wasn’t exactly paving the way for his brother to confide his deepest darkest secrets in him, but Merlin was determined to change that. At that exact moment he came to the decision that he was going to ignore how their relationship first started and work towards being a real friend to his brother—that included becoming someone he could confide in. It wasn’t healthy to keep such unrequited feelings buried.

True, his brother would likely have to learn to live with them until they passed—but he didn’t have to be alone over it. He could tell Merlin….talking helped. At least that was Gaius and his mother always told him.         

“Henry” he said pointedly, hoping that the boy would drop the façade and just admit the truth---the liquid courage Henry had been drinking all night had to cut in at some point….right?

Henry looked towards the exit of the tavern as though he was contemplating on whether or not he would be able to escape before Merlin or worse one of the others caught up with him. After a long moment the fight seemed to drain from him and his shoulders slumped. He turned his body completely away from Merlin giving the barkeep (who had finally noticed them) a gesture indicating what they wanted before he answered his voice quiet enough that Merlin almost missed it.

“Who else knows?”

Merlin blinked at this slightly surprised by the question but answered it none the less, doing his best to reassure the obviously embarrassed teen, “no one…at least I’m pretty sure it was just me….I saw you…” he was going to continue on. State that he saw Henry staring at Arthur at the banquet but was interrupted by the thud of several flagons being set heavily on the bar in front of him. Neither of the boys made any move to grab them.

“Please don’t tell anyone” was the next request—no plea, the fell from his brother’s lips.

Again he was surprised by the wording that Henry used. He would have thought that he would have asked that he specifically didn’t tell Arthur—the subject of his crush, but once again he shrugged it off. He was thrilled that his brother had finally told him (and alright, he had basically forced him too but still….it was progress…wasn’t it?) and he readily agreed, placing what he hoped was a comforting (and understanding) hand on his brother’s shoulder.

Henry tensed at the contact but didn’t try to move away. Yes progress, definitely.

He was about to say something else---what, he wasn’t sure…just something—but he was once again interrupted though this time not by the barkeep but by Gwaine, who had apparently gotten tired of waiting for the drink refills and had decided to come investigate what was taking them so long.

Merlin wanted to glare at his friend but resisted the urge—perhaps trying to hold a serious and heartfelt conversation with his brother while at the local tavern hadn’t been the best thought out plan. Though the loud atmosphere and constant interruptions were tempered by the fact that the tavern was the only place where his brother would be drunk enough to even consider letting down those walls….even if just a little.

“Hey! There you guys are! What happened, did you get lost?” he asked his voice loud enough to cause Merlin to cringe though his brother smiled at the interloper easily enough. He once again seemed relieved to have an exit from his current conversation. Merlin was starting to get the feeling that Henry was a bit of an avoider.

Merlin decided to give up for the time being and quickly picked up the tray of drinks following the other two carefully back towards the table, all while doing his best to avoid dumping any. He sent Gwaine a brief dirty look at having come all the way over but not offering to help carry any (Merlin was the clumsiest out of everyone here…how it was a good idea that _he_ be the one to carry the drinks back, he didn’t know) but the look went entirely unnoticed by his friend.

His friend who seemed to be just as drunk as everyone else here---and apparently rather affectionate. It was something that he had long known about Gwaine; that mixing him with alcohol always resulted in a overly friendly knight….it was a bit of a running joke that the man would hit on anything with two legs when he was drunk (and some swore that four legs was not entirely out of the picture). So he really wasn’t that surprised to see the man practically draping himself over Henry in a way too intimate to be just friends kind of way.

He wasn’t surprised, so he hadn’t expected for anyone else to be either. At most he had expected a few lewd comments and sniggers before some poor knight (whoever had been placed on Gwaine babysitting duties for the night) came over and untangled him from Merlin’s perplexed looking brother.

He _was_ surprised however, when instead of a friendly well meaning shove Arthur himself, was pushing Gwaine roughly off of Henry and delivering a sucker punch to the drunk knight’s face.    

\--o—

He wasn’t drunk…

Okay, so that was a lie….he was a drunk, at least a little, but he was not so far gone as too not see what was going down in front of him. Not that he was sober enough to understand it completely; then again, even if he hadn’t been drinking that night he was pretty sure he would have no idea what the hell was up with Arthur.

Because the angry, yelling idiot who had just punched Gwaine right in the bloody nose was not the Arthur he had come to know over the past few months. Then again, hadn’t he already established that maybe he didn’t know Arthur as well as he thought he did? –guess this was sort of proving that point for him.

Harry shook his head trying to rid himself of the confused stupor he had fallen into whilst staring at the fighting buffoons in front of him completely gobsmacked, he did so just in time to catch the tail end of Arthur’s angry statement.

“….hands off!”

And WTF? Honestly was this really happening right now?! Because if Arthur thought Harry was just going to sit back meekly and let the man act like a complete jackass, not only to his mates, but to Harry himself, well he obviously didn’t know him as well as he thought he did!

It sounded (and rightly so) like the idiot was trying to stake a claim—a claim that as of this moment he had absolutely no right to stake (not to mention hadn’t Arthur just recently broken up with him because it was not safe for him to be seen with Harry? What happened to that overwhelming need of his to ‘protect’ him?—and no, that last bit was not thought with any bitterness……).

And maybe Harry’s infamous temper, mixed with righteous indignation, coupled with a few pitchers of whatever was in those rather deep bottomed jugs led him to doing what he did next.

Which would be marching up to the crowned prince of Camelot and punching _him_ in the nose.

Promptly followed by him spinning around on his heels and stumble/weaving himself out of the bar. He thought that it had all been deliciously dramatic—a real cinematic moment to say the least. Of course, once he and everyone else were sober he might not reach the same conclusion (Especially since Arthur had only added to the moment by doing the cliché ‘Henry! Wait!’ thing—which Harry had completely ignored).

Then again, maybe he would, after all it had felt pretty awesome to hit Arthur. The man more than deserved it.

He had mental ground on about Arthur’s nerve, trying to shred any and all longing in himself to go back and see what the man had to say for himself, the entire march back to his living quarters. Though his anger was not even starting to abate by the time he slammed his door shut. He knew that he should have ignored Gwaine’s instance that he come tonight.

He _knew_ that nothing good would come from sticking him and Arthur in a room together. How could it? What with Harry’s resentful longing and Arthur’s guilt ridden glances…..and he had been right.

And no, he didn’t blame Gwaine for what happened….at least not really. He knew as well as anyone (as well as Arthur should have known) that the knight hadn’t meant anything by his over friendliness. It was just who drunk Gwaine was---and even if he had, what business was it of Arthurs?

The prince was the one that had broken up with him after all, not the other way around! Not to mention he hadn’t wasted anytime in getting his own hands all over Princess Vivian (and ok, maybe the last was a little unfair considering the curse and everything but still! It wasn’t as though anything was going to happen between him and Gwaine. Arthur should have been smart enough to recognize that!)

So yes, he was pretty pissed off at the moment….but mostly, mostly, he was confused. Oh so very confused.

Slumping down onto his hard pallet, Harry tried to focus his thoughts enough to decide what he should do. He spent just as long trying to pull off his boots.

In the end he gave up on doing either and allowed himself to fall back, darkness descending even before his head hit the pitiful thing he called a pillow.

He certainly wasn’t aware of the sound of his door creaking open not only five minutes later, nor was he aware of the soft sound of leaving footsteps which followed.

\--oo—

Finally! Finally he was back in control!….well at least for the moment.

It had been far too long since the last time, and while these brief moments of lucidity were coming more and more often as time passed, they were still far to spread out in his opinion. There were so many things he wanted to do, things that needed stealing…..throats he that needed slitting….. But all that would have to wait.

He had more important priorities at the moment. And he needed to get them taken care of while he was still at the reigns.

It was a good thing that Harry had let down his guard enough to drink—Myror had found that it definitely made pushing his other halves conscience to the back far easier….plus it also helped misplace blame after when Harry couldn’t remember anything. Those black spots in his memory were much easier to self justify when there was alcohol to take the fall.

Perfect for Myror.

He ducked quietly into an alcove at the sound of approaching steps—not willing to get caught up or out at this time of night. The fewer people who saw him, the less questions Harry would be faced with in the morning; thus the less suspicion and worry he would garner from his other half. Harry was not really aware of just how present Myror was these days, and he wanted to keep it that way. For now at least.

Myror felt his lips pull down at the thought of the half soul he was sharing this body with….well he suppose (if he were to believe Harry’s thoughts) not _the_ , but _his_ half soul. Since apparently Harry was simply the other half of a broken whole. At wasn’t that a bit shocking?

Myror had at first refused to believe it….but with time, and a cooling of temper he had to admit that it was a plausible explanation. Despite how much he resented his other half he couldn’t deny that he did feel more ‘complete’ now that Harry was present. It didn’t mean that Myror liked him any better though.

Okay, don’t get him wrong; while it was true that he wasn’t exactly a fan of ‘Harry,’ it was more the fact that Harry was the one with the majority of control day to day. If it had been he who was aware and present nearly 24/7, he would likely have no problem with the other half. Harry did, after all, help stabilize his moods and clear his thinking.

It didn’t make everything okay….but Myror would. He had been plotting and planning during his moments of lucidity over the past few months. He had an idea of how to reverse the tables, to swipe Harry’s mental feet out from under him and give him the advantage.

Plus it would be better for both of them this way. Harry was far too soft to be allowed to remain in control. Admittedly the other half had brought a score of amazing skills and power to the table but the man was far to ‘nice’ to truly use any of it. Harry had proven time and again that he would allow himself to be used and abused by those weaker and far less deserving then he.

Once Myror had his say that was going to change.

Starting with that asshole of a prince. Myror had spent the countless hours fuming over how Arthur treated Harry (and thus by association _him_!) and he was not going to allow for it to continue. He would get his revenge…not only on Arthur but on all those who had dared underestimate them.

And he had the perfect plan on how to do so; he just needed a bit of outside help was all. Thankfully there was a person posed perfectly to be able to provide such help. It was that person whom he was currently hunting for as a matter of fact. Mordred would make the perfect ally.

The teen should be easy enough to convince. The allure of shared power and added strength would be more than enough to ensure that the ex-druid held his tongue and provided the potion that Myror needed.

It was a little annoying in truth…having to rely on another. Myror had the knowledge to make it himself after all, sadly he didn’t have the time. For he never knew when Harry was going to retake control and he couldn’t risk tipping off his other half on his plan should Harry wake up to find a half finished brew.

The man just might recognize the potion for what it was….and that would never do.

So no, he would have to rely on Mordred’s help for the time being.

But soon…..soon he wouldn’t need to hide: least of all from his other half. Soon, he would be the one with all the control.  

\--o—

He was late. Of course he was late; Morgana couldn’t help but think bitterly as she basically wore a path in the forest floor with her restless pacing.

He could probably sense her burning desire to grill him for answers (not to mention the equally combustible anger that had been building in her since her last conversation with her sister) and was doing the cowardly thing and avoiding her. She wouldn’t put it past him.

She hadn’t realized until she listened to Morgause’s words-- doubts and questions springing to life--just how much she had come to depend on her ‘friend.’ To find out that he had been lying to her from the start hurt far more then she thought it would—definitely more than it should.

Still, she would hold off assuming anything just yet, she would wait to get answers from the boy himself. If nothing else, she owed him that—he had helped her greatly with her magic and control after all.

And finally she heard the sound of her friend approaching, it was a good thing too, because she was literally seconds away from losing it and tracking him down herself. That would not have ended well, especially since in her rage and betrayal, who knows what secrets she might have let slip?

“Morgana! Sorry I’m late…..I don’t know what happened—I never oversleep! Anyway…sorry…” Henry panted out between gasping breaths as he hunched over, using a nearby tree for support. She almost smiled at the endearing sight he made; key word: Almost.

“Henry….” She returned his greeting carefully keeping her face blank of emotion, “Or should I say Myror?”


	16. Little Boy Blue: Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! sorry for how bloody long this took to get out, I have no excuse except that I lost my writing mojo for a bit and needed a break to rediscover it ;) Thanks for your patience. So this chapter is (once again) half of one chapter-once again it was getting a bit long so I decided to post it midway as I reached a good breaking point. I am hoping to use this chapter to not only mend Arthur/Harry's relationship (second half of chapter) but to show the beginning splinters of Morgana/Harry's friendship and the forming of the villionous trio. Beware there is angst and teeanage girl logic ahead. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

 

* * *

 

_For there to be betrayal, there would have to have been trust first.” ―_ [ _Suzanne Collins_ ](http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/153394.Suzanne_Collins) _,_ [ _The Hunger Games_ ](http://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/2792775)

* * *

 

In the hours that had passed since Morgause had revealed certain truths, Morgana found her intial trust and defense of her friend’s motives weigning away to be replaced with doubt and anger.

If she had paused long enough to see through those rising emotions, she might have recognized that she wasn’t so much angry as hurt by Henry’s omission. No not omission— **lie** , omission sounded far too innocent and easily forgiven. No Henry had lied to her! How long had they been friends?...

Ok so not that long, but that is beside the point! They had shared a real, honest, once in a lifetime type bond. One of magic! He could have told her the truth…..he could have trusted her….he could have….

But he didn’t! he obviously didn’t value her friendship and companionship in the same way that she valued his. She had told him everything!.....okay, well…..ALMOST everything…..

No matter! She was getting sidetracked! What mattered was that her friend had lied to her, and not a small lie….a huge, all encompassing lie at that! He had lied about the very person he was. And she wanted answers!

Answers that she most definitely deserved….

And as she watched him stumble, out of breath with an apology on his lips she knew that she would get those answers….

No matter the cost.

\--o—

Harry was almost relieved to arrive back at the castle too find it mid-catastrophe…if only because it stole his attention away from the harsh words (ok, _fight_ ) he had just had with Morgana. And what kind of person did that make him? –One that rejoiced in the obvious pain and suffering of others obviously.

Oh alright, so he was being a bit melodramatic: sue him. He thought it was rather called for; it was not every day that one found themselves more upset about a fight between friends compared to watching half of Camelot fall into a (so far) un-wakable sleep after all, he had a hard time feeling that his current prioritization was a good thing either. If he hadn’t already been questioning his morals and fearing that he was going (for lack of better word) _dark_ , then he would be now!

Still despite it possibly making him an evil, vile person, he was still glad for the distraction. Even if it meant interacting with Arthur when he had been so far doing a smash up job of avoiding the man (of course hardly a dozen hours had passed since the whole bar scene had taken place….but he had been successfully avoiding the man for all of those hours! That had to count for something!).

“Harry! Thank god you’re all right! People just started to fall unconscious and I couldn’t find you….I looked everywhere, I thought…” Arthur’s panicked voice had been the first to greet him upon exiting the forest. The blond prince had practically run towards him in his panicked haste, ignoring the fact that this was definitely not an appropriate response for a prince to have when finding a wayward servant. That in itself told Harry that something _big_ was up. Big enough for Arthur to go back on the self made promise he had made months ago.

“Arthur?” Harry asked hesitantly, glancing around the practice field quickly—both relieved and disappointed (a small stupid part of his brain for the latter) to find that there was no one around, “What are you talking about? What’s wrong?”

“Harry” Arthur gasped out of breath as he reached for him, pulling the smaller teen into a tight embrace before releasing him—the panic slowly receding from his eyes to be replaced with realization and common sense. “I’m sorry….I-I just….everyone is falling…I was worried” he managed to get out looking both flustered and embarrassed in one.

“Whoa…calm down. What are you talking about? What has happened?” Harry asked pushing back his own anger and annoyance at Arthur and his past behavior in view of the rare falling of the prince’s masks. Make no mistake; he was still furious at Arthur for the past however many weeks the prince had been playing with his emotions (because that is what it felt with the constant push—pull, that the prince was simply amusing himself at the corresponding upheaval they caused Harry) but after his fight and abrupt departure from Morgana coupled with whatever had happened to leave the prince so disheveled he figured his anger could wait.

And that was when Arthur had finally calmed enough to tell him what was going on. He relayed (with impressive speed in fact) the fact that he had awoken—Harry got the feeling the prince was editing the state he had awoken in out of his tale—as normal. Going down to attend breakfast with his father, only to have the maid who was serving them suddenly fall midst pour. When checked the unconscious juice covered woman was found to be quite healthy if not for being very much completely and unrousably asleep. And it just continued from there….

One after another, people; nobles, knights, servants, finally even Uther had grown more and more tired before they too suddenly collapsed into an unbreakable sleep.

“….I left father to see if I could find you….or Morgana—she’s missing as well—but you were nowhere. I was afraid that….but anyway, when I couldn’t find either of you I went back to see if Gaius or father had discovered anything only to find them both collapsed and unconscious. I don’t know what to do! Gaius was searching for a cure—and now that he’s asleep…I just….I don’t know” Arthur finished helplessly.

Harry’s frown continued to deepen the further along that Arthur’s tale went. It sounded like some sort of curse—a powerful, rather dark one at that—the fact that he, and when he had left, Morgana had not been affected (or Arthur yet for that matter) had to be simply chance. A thought skittered through his brain causing him to turn his attention back to the blond in front of him.

“Has anyone else not been affected—outside of you so far? Where’s Merlin?” he asked trying to keep his tone smooth and unhurried. He needed to hear whether or not his half brother had been affected, if he hadn’t, that would go a long way towards answering his awakening suspicions.

“Whaa—“Arthur stopped and shook his head, leaving off whatever he had been going to ask, “uh…no, there were a few guards still standing—I left them to guard my father, along with Merlin. He was still conscious when I last saw him but I just had to make one more sweep….we should probably go back and make sure they are still okay…It took a lot of convincing for Merlin to stay behind and not follow me….”

He couldn’t be sure but it was almost too much of a coincidence to completely dismiss the thought. Especially since he knew that at least 3 out of 4 of those he knew still awake contained magic within their veins. Which could only mean, if he was correct in his assumptions, that the magical were being spared; that Arthur must have…..

No, this was not the time to let his curiosity run away with him. He had no way to confirm or even prove his hypothesis…..he could always ponder such things later. Right now they had far more important things to do….such as regrouping.

“I saw Morgana a few seconds ago, she was still awake….I should check and make sure she still is…” Harry stated wincing slightly because he knew how suspicious the fact that he had just seen Morgana was. Hopefully Arthur was too preoccupied with what was taking place now to pick up on that fact.

Of course not.

“You just saw my Morgana? Where?” Arthur demanded, his attention for the first time sharpening and making it known that despite being frantic, that his intellect was very much present.

Here goes nothing—let’s hope his lying ability was still in place despite having been torn into because of that very ability not moments before by a rather irate witch. “Um…in the forest….I was out collecting herbs for Gaius and I ran into her. She said she needed a walk to clear her head. I think she had another one of her nightmares and just needed to get away from Gwen’s mother-henning for a bit…”

Harry breathed a silent breath of relief when Arthur accepted his excuse without question—but then again why should he question it? It wasn’t as though he had any reason to suspect that Harry had actually been going to meet the witch for another reason entirely; a very illegal, magic wielding one.

The sound of leaves crackling under foot made Harry’s previous statement obsolete as Morgana brought herself to them.

“Arthur? Harry? What’s going on?”

The question in itself was completely rationale and expected—it was the rather apathetic shine to the beautiful girl’s eyes that made Harry pause. He knew that he was being overly paranoid—most likely because he didn’t like the fact that Morgana now held cards she could use to destroy him, but also because he still didn’t know just where or who she had gotten those cards from—but he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that the witch knew more then she should about what Arthur had just told him.

He watched her closely as Arthur quickly relayed what he had just told Harry to Morgana—the lack of real surprise (there was plenty of faked present) in the witch’s face only deepened his paranoia. Did she know who had cast the curse?—because that was really the only thing that the lack of surprise could logically be—and if she did, what exactly was her relationship to them.

Because despite knowing that she herself was a witch, Harry knew (or at least he thought he did) that she did not have the power or knowledge to cast such a curse herself. But he had a feeling that she knew the person who did…..

The unknown definitely unsettled him.

For now though, there was nothing he could do, he definitely couldn’t ask her about it with Arthur present that was for sure. And even without him present he was hesitant to do so….he did not want to rock the boat too much...he couldn’t risk angering her right now. She had just barely agreed not to say anything about his past identity---in fact she hadn’t really agreed, she had simply said that she needed to think on it.

He didn’t want to risk casting magic against her when there was still a chance she could choose to keep silent on her own. So really….accusing her of being an accomplice in a dark spell wouldn’t be the smartest of actions at this moment.

But it didn’t mean he couldn’t keep an eye on her until he had more proof.

\--0—

(Hours earlier)

“Well?” Morgause demanded, impatience leaking from her tone and stance.

Mordred bit back a smug smile; he adored being the one in power, or at least in this case, the one with the information that the witch so desperately wanted. It did not happen all that often these days (though it would once he had successfully manipulated and replaced the greedy bitch) so he couldn’t help but draw it out and savor the accomplishment.

Because he had news—big, possibly plan changing news….and it was HE not Morgause or Morgana who had procured it!

“I did as you requested…” he began more than a little amused to see Morgause lean towards him in a most likely involuntary motion. Her eagerness at his news betraying her through her bodies reaction.

“And?” she asked again motioning for him to get on with it.

Sighing he decided had gotten what little joy he could out of holding back and that he might as well do as ordered….plus he was curious to see how she would react to what he had discovered. He himself was not entirely sure what to make of it.

“I have been keeping an eye on the apprentice as you wanted me too….and while that turned out to be far more interesting then I thought it would be, that isn’t what I wanted to speak to you about” Mordred began to explain.

It was the truth, he had initially thought that tailing the boy was just Morgause’s way of exercising her authority over him—something to keep him out of her way but occupied—however that was before he had truly felt the boy’s energy. It had taken less than a day of trailing after him (at a distance of course) to realize that the boy was brimming with an energy that could be nothing other than magic. Finding out that he was Emry’s half brother had only strengthened the realization that this boy had the power and ability to drastically change the upcoming fight (because deny all they want, this magic vs. nonmagical disagreement would not be some peaceful discussion and mutual resolution—like Morgana was hoping, it would be a blood bath: With the most vicious and most powerful on the winning side).

Despite the fact that Henry didn’t do anything really telling, per say (well outside of somehow disappearing at odd times of the day and losing even Mordred while doing so), there was just a feeling that something did not quite add up about the boy. And this was how he had felt about him _before_ he had approached Mordred wanting to ‘talk’.

The Henry that Mordred had spent so long observing was no where present in the boy’s attitude when he had tracked him down last night…that was for sure.

If Mordred hadn’t seen his face with his very own eyes he would have sworn that it was a completely different person who had come and spoken to him. There was a barely restrained fury to the boy’s continence—a cold, flinty look in those green eyes that Mordred had not once witnessed in the weeks prior. He could admit (if only to himself) that the drastic difference in between the boy he had spoken with and the one he had spied on unnerved him.

But pushing past his unease—Henry had offered up both his allegiance and power enough to get Mordred what he so desired. He would just have to be careful with how much he revealed to Morgause. After all Henry had approached _him_ not Morgause….it was only fair that _he_ not the witch got the full benefit of their hastily struck deal.

There was a small part of his brain that whispered that the deal had been too good to be true. That Henry gave up far more then he received---after all, the only thing that he had asked for in exchange for helping Mordred with not only taking Camelot but disposing of Morgause and Morgana after was a simple potion (or fine, not so simple, but in comparison…). But still, even if it did seem a wee bit sketchy Mordred was not going to let the opportunity pass—if he had to risk a bit of trust well so be it. It would be worth it in the end. After all he was in the habit of pairing off with the most powerful allies—and if the power he felt off of Henry was anything to go by, he was a far better choice than Morgause was.

“Well spit it out! I haven’t got all day to listen to you….we have other things to get to as you well know….I am confident that Morgana will do just as we expect her to do”

Mordred raised a skeptical eyebrow at that. Last he had heard Morgana had been brimming with doubts and hadn’t been the nice little complying accomplice that Morgause had wanted. Even if Morgause had brought up a few secrets of Henry’s (not that they knew much outside the fact that the boy had been going by a different name then he had used in the past---that and the whispers of not such a white and shiny persona that attached to the other name. Not that Mordred was all that surprised now that he had witnessed the major character shift when speaking to the apprentice) he didn’t think it would be enough to give the girl the push she needed, to do what Morgause wanted her to do.

Morgause waved her hand dismissively at his silent doubts, “she’ll do it. I can’t see Henry reacting well to the accusations and questions she will no doubt throw at him. He strikes me as the type to get silent and defensive which will only play on the seeds of doubt that I have already sown and make Morgana lash out. And what better way to lash out but to do as I asked her to? After all she still thinks that no one will get hurt….” the sadistic grin that finished that sentence didn’t surprise Mordred in the least.

He wasn’t blind to the witch’s cruel side, it was exactly that side that made him want to join her in the first place—she had the coldness to do whatever was necessary to remove Uther from the thrown. It was also that side that made him equally sure that he could not trust her and that he would have to remove her after their plans played out before she could remove him. Still—he was able to appreciate and admire her strategic manipulation of even her own half sister. It was cunningness at its best.

“But getting back on track what did you find out? And stop trying to evade the question….or I might think you have something to hide” the tone was light and teasing but the expression on her face was anything but.

Mordred was careful to keep his expression neutral when he expounded—naturally editing what he did not want her to know of course—“Henry approached me wanting to talk. He said that he is willing to help us….but wants to maintain his cover for a while longer”—there, that was close enough to the truth to pass but left out his own double dealings with the boy sorcerer.

A look of shocked disbelief flitted across Morgause’s face, “Well….I must say I didn’t see that coming. From what little I have seen of the boy—even outside of what we found out about his current lies—I didn’t see him approaching us, much less offering his assistance…”

And there was definite suspicion in her not so hidden question. Mordred forced himself not to shift guiltily—he had no intention of giving himself away. Perhaps he would have to feed her just a little bit more information to satisfy her paranoia.

“To tell you the truth, it surprised me as well. But he wasn’t acting at all like what I have come to expect. In truth if I hadn’t spent the last few weeks studying his face-- enough to recognize an imposter--I would have sworn he was a completely different person…but I could read no deceit in his offer. He seemed to truly mean that he was on our side. And you know how good my magic is at discovering lies…” Of course she knew. It was one of the reasons that she trusted him about as much as he trusted her—she knew that he would be able to tell that she was using him and therefore knew that he would be doing the same.

Yes it was a messed up, duplicitous partnership…but for the people that they were it was the only kind.

“Hmmm….curious…” Morgause face shifted into one of consideration before she shook her head her eyes flicking back to where Mordred was standing.

“What’s curious? Do you suspect something?” Mordred asked neutrally. He couldn’t help but wonder just what Morgause made from his truth lined lies.

“Perhaps….there are several things that can affect someone’s personality in the way you are describing, from possession, to a curse, to simply being extremely skilled at acting….but whatever, it does not matter right now. Right now we need to focus on what we are going to put in place today”

And with that Mordred knew that the discussion regarding Henry while not over, was at least suspended until a later date. Though her suggestions did make him wonder….he had truthfully never heard of a possession that was so stable that it could be maintained over that length of time, it would have to be done by someone extremely powerful—both the host and possessor would have to have astronomical amounts of power to allow for such a thing. But the alternative, that Henry was just that skilled at lying, was equally as chilling.

Ignoring the small shudder that flickered up his spine Mordred pushed away his unease. He really hoped that he wouldn’t regret making a deal with the boy….because somehow it felt as though he had shaken hands with devil himself.

\--o—

_(The day before)_

_\------------------------------------------last time----------------------------------------------_

_“Well….in my travels I have heard things sister. Ominous things, fanciful things, ludicrous even…..and I have heard stories about a boy—man out there….one whose physical description matches surprisingly well to your new friend….” Morgause began letting her mouth curl at the corner when she noticed Morgana had stilled and leaned forward as though anticipating her next words._

_“This boy I have heard about…..well according to some circles-- and not the socially polite ones at that-- he goes by the name of Myror”_

_\------------------------------last time------------------------------------------------------------------_

“What are you trying to say?” Morgana found herself demanding, the furious need to defend her friend, her mentor, rising unbidden with a fury that surprised even her. Apparently she had grown more fond and protective of her friend then even she had suspected.

Though honestly, when one took the time to think about it, it wasn’t all that surprising; after all he was the first person she had ever truly felt a connection with—truly felt safe enough to be herself with (because regardless of how she loved her half brother, or cared for Gwen, they did not know of her magic and therefore did not know her).

“I am simply suggesting sister, that perhaps you have given away your trust too easily…that is all. After all if he is truly the friend you claim he is, why would he hide something so big from you? Why would he hide his true identity?” Morgause asked her face one of innocence. Not that Morgana was stupid enough to believe that innocence….if her sister was asking such questions it was for more than just simple sisterly concern. Not that her sister _wasn’t_ concerned for her well being—she likely was, but Morgana was not naïve enough to think that there wasn’t more than one purpose to her line of questioning.

“Where did you even get this information from? And can you be sure that they are trustworthy?—they might be lying…..and even if what you say is true, I’m sure he had a reason to change his name. It’s not like changing one’s name is a crime after all” Morgana denied, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her gut at Morgause’s words.

“Of course it’s not….but it does raise the question of just why he changed it….and what else he might be hiding?” Morgause agreed—too easily in Morgana’s opinion, and it did not escape her notice that Morgause had completely ignored her previous question about where the information had come from.

Still…..even if she didn’t like what Morgause was saying, it didn’t mean that her sister didn’t have a point.

“If he truly is your friend….I’m sure that he wouldn’t mind answering a few questions—after all like you said, he must have a good reason for lying. Don’t you deserve to know it?”

And that was the cincher. Because as much as Morgana didn’t want to believe what her sister was subtly (or not so subtly) implying—her rationale couldn’t be faulted. By Morgana’s own words, if Henry was the person and confidant that she thought he was, he should have no issue with telling Morgana the truth. He _had_ lied after all….

“Fine. I’ll ask him. He’ll tell me the truth….I know he will” Morgana refuted her own doubt stubbornly.

“I’m sure he will” Morgause said comfortingly—though the mocking undertone made Morgana want to go find Henry and prove her wrong that much more. “Just remember Morgana—even if he does turn out to disappoint you….to be too wrapped up in your brother’s devious affections, me and Mordred will always be here for you. With us—you will get what you truly want; an Uther free Camelot where magic is a gift not a crime”

Morgana wanted to laugh when she heard Morgause’s claims about Arthur’s affection for her friend. It seemed ludicrous and absurd to even contemplate….she had no idea where her sister had gotten that implication from….It was ridiculous.

But once again her traitorous mind brought forth memories of fleeting glances she had noticed but dismissed between the two, of a casual brush of her brother’s hand against Henry’s shoulder or arm on the rare occasion she had witnessed them together….of that odd run in weeks ago with a disheveled and nervous Arthur---she had been sure at the time that he had been hiding some cellar maid in the bushes but what if…..

No. There was just no way…..was there?

Because if so, it was yet another thing about her friend that she did not know. That he had purposefully _hid_ from her….

She wanted to shy away from the all too knowing look in her sister’s eyes.

No! She couldn’t have been entirely ignorant to her friend’s comings and goings. Plus even if she was, she was not entirely sure that she could completely trust her sister and her motives.

True, the picture that Morgause painted—a corruption free Camelot—was so _very_ enticing, but she wasn’t quite sure she could agree with her sisters methods. The plan that both she and Mordred had outlined before their conversation had taken a turn for the worse, had left her with an anxious churning in her gut. She knew they had promised that it was simply to wake everyone up to just how powerful magic could be (and wasn’t that an ironic turn of phrase considering what the spell they were planning on enacting did?), they swore that no one would truly get hurt…..but she just didn’t know.

She knew, deep down, what Henry would say if he heard their plan, and up until now (and okay, still did) she had respected and trusted him too much to truly listen to her sister’s persuasive promises.

Was her trust misplaced? Was she respecting a lie? A fraud? Someone who didn’t and had never existed?

The only way she could know for sure was to talk to him…..and hope that he would talk back.

_(Fast forward to minutes before Harry and Arthur’s meeting)_

Morgana allowed her stiff posture to momentarily slump and the shuddering breath that she had been holding back to escape her lips. That hadn’t been what she had wanted…..

It hadn’t been what she expected—not truly. Yes, she had heard her sister’s insistence that Henry would maintain his stubborn silence, that he wouldn’t explain his reasons, but even when she had harbored the niggling of doubt she hadn’t truly believed he would turn out to be just as her sister insisted; a liar, a fraud. There was nothing left to question now though.

She was surprised at how much it hurt.

_(flashback)_

_“Morgana! Sorry I’m late…..I don’t know what happened—I never oversleep! Anyway…sorry…” Henry panted out between gasping breaths as he hunched over, using a nearby tree for support. She almost smiled at the endearing sight he made; key word: Almost._

_“Henry….” She returned his greeting carefully keeping her face blank of emotion, “Or should I say Myror?”_

_“I….What?” the boy asked his tone perfectly confused even as his head snapped up to meet hers. There was way too much wariness in his eyes for her to believe in the artifice of his words._

_“You heard me. Tell me_ **Henry** _why the lie? Who is Myror? Why didn’t you tell me?” and the last was truly the precipice of it all. ‘ **Why didn’t you tell me when I have told you so much about myself? Why didn’t you trust me with your secrets as I have mine?”** –the unspoken questions were palpable as they hung limp and desolate in the spanning silence. _

_Never had she felt further away from the magician before her then she did in that moment._

_“I-, Where did you hear that name?”_

_And the demand coupled with the way he refused to meet her eyes roused the, until then, quietly simmering anger._

_“Is that all you have to say for yourself? No answers? No other pretty words or lies—heavens know I am likely a big enough fool to believe them!” there was no hiding the bitter admittance, even as her own eyes flashed with anger._

_“I don’t know what to say Morgana. I never meant to lie to you….it’s- it’s not what you think” Henry pleaded for her understanding—or was it Myror now? What was she suppose to call her supposed best friend?_

_“And what is it that I think Henry? Just answer me this, **why**?” Morgana’s voice softened near the end. Despite what logic was telling her, she couldn’t quite give up hoping that there was some rationale reason for Henry to be pretending to be another person. Maybe he was running from someone? –it could be possible….if someone back home had found out about his magic it would make perfect sense for him to run and change his name. She could forgive him if that was the reason—after all she had hidden her magic for how long before he had come into her life? _

_“I…I can’t tell you….you couldn’t understand” he stated softly his gaze once more trained on the forest instead of her._

_And wasn’t that rich? Wasn’t this just what her sister had warned her about? Some stupid—not even excuse?_

_“How can you possibly know that without trying?” she insisted—not willing to back down on this._

_“I just know Morgana, please trust me….maybe someday…” he trailed off, she could almost have sworn that there was a whispered ‘maybe when I understand myself’ but she dismissed it as hearing things._

_“Why would I do that?! What reason have you given me to trust you?” and that was what it came down to. The Henry she had thought she had known for the past few weeks, the façade, was deserving of her trust…. this stranger—the REAL Henry…..well how was she suppose to know? She knew nothing about him…_

_“I know I haven’t given you a lot of reason to trust me Morgana, I **know** that.But things are just too complicated to be able to explain. I know I lied, but the man who helped you with your magic, the man who views you as one of his few friends here in Camelot…that was never a lie; that is still me. Just because my past name and history are not exactly as you know them does not make everything between us a lie. If you believe me on anything, believe me on that” _

_And that was the problem despite her hurt and anger she did believe him—at least to an extent. There was too much intrinsic trust between them and their magics to have her discard him completely. But still…._

_“I don’t know….I just….I need to think, I need time” she said softly now being the one to avoid his pleading eyes._

_“I-I understand. Just please Morgana….don’t tell anyone…..I-I just, I can’t have them know…not yet”_

_She wanted so badly to refuse, to laugh in his face the way she felt like he was laughing in hers with his continued refusal for the truth, but again, despite being different from who she had thought he was, she couldn’t bring herself to purposefully hurt him like that…..even angry she knew this._

_“Fine, I won’t tell anyone….for now” She heard herself agreeing. And she wouldn’t. At least until she had decided what to do with their new dynamic._

_“Thank you”_

_(end flashback)_

While their conversation had taken place only minutes before it already felt like an eternity had passed. She hadn’t lied—at least not out right. She _wasn’t_ planning on telling anyone about Henry’s past identity—not only because she didn’t truly wish to hurt him (well outside of the small speck of teenage girl type vindictiveness she did her best to ignore) but because she really didn’t know enough to tell (outside of the vague impression that it wasn’t a good identity that he was hiding). But that didn’t mean that she was willing to simply trust him.

Not anymore.

Morgause had been right with her insinuation that Henry wouldn’t open up to her and it couldn’t help but make her wonder what else Morgause was right about. It also made it clear to her that she needed to finally choose a side.

She had been waffling between going along with Morgause and Mordred’s plan for Camelot for several reasons, but one of the biggest ones was that she didn’t think that Henry would approve of their methods and she hadn’t wanted to disappoint him. But after their conversation, it was clear to her that perhaps she shouldn’t be concentrating so much on what _Henry_ might think. Maybe it was time to concentrate on what SHE thought.

It was clear that Henry had a plan (whether or not it was over the same thing that Morgause’s plan was didn’t matter) and that he didn’t feel fit to share those plans with her, so why should she hold back because of him? After all Morgause had promised her a utopia of magic and freedom---Henry would understand in the end.

Sure he might not approve of her sister’s methods but it was the end result that mattered….right?

Plus…Morgause said no one was going to get hurt today—maybe this was her chance to show Henry and everyone else that she didn’t need them to become a powerful, independent witch in her own right. Maybe if she seemed more competent and self sufficient Henry would see her worthy enough to share his secrets with.

Decision made, Morgana reached into her pocket for the familiar weight. Pausing momentarily to admire the golden sheen of the bracelet Morgause had given her so long ago she took a deep breath and slid it on.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: 
> 
> Chapter title: From the nursery rhyme titled: Little Boy Blue
> 
> Little boy blue,  
>  come blow your horn,   
>  The sheep's in the meadow,   
> the cows in the corn.  
>  Where is the little boy who looks after the sheep?   
> He's under the haystack, fast asleep


	17. Little Boy Blue: Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys so my orignal goal was to have this second part out by xmas...you can see how that went. Sadly you will just have to be satisfied that it got out nearish new years? he he. Honestly not sure how I feel about this one-was super hard to write. hopefully it is not equally hard to read. 
> 
> As always drop me a comment and let me know what you thought! enjoy ;)

** (PART 2) **

With both Henry and his sister by his side, Arthur couldn’t help but be both curious and thankful that whatever caused one to fall victim to this latest curse against Camelot, had passed over both of his companions.

He hastily squashed the Uther ingrained response to regard either of the individuals, carefully picking their way across the citadel’s outer sanctum (carefully avoiding tripping over any of the slumbering guard or servants fallen in their path), with suspicion. It was a stupid thing to get hung up over—especially with everything that was going on at the moment—but he couldn’t help but question the likeliness of their combined story (after all, since when did Morgana go for random walks in the forest? Even if it was too calm herself from her nightmares—something that Arthur knew that she usually relied on hot baths and incents for….).

That and the fact that both were quite visibly unaffected by the somnolent effects most of the kingdom had fallen under—true, he himself was still awake and thus could be said to be in the same boat, but despite having yet to succumb, he was starting to feel more and more drowsy….something that he was fighting with every cell of his being—but both Henry and Morgana didn’t show an ounce of fatigue.

They were either far better at hiding the gradual affects of the curse then he was….or they simply weren’t being affected at all. Which raised the question of why that was?

He knew that his thoughts were overly paranoid and a bit ridiculous even (the blame of which he laid at Uther’s feet---his mantra of odd=conspiracy, most likely involving magic, was not a singular event in Arthur’s childhood after all) and so was doing his best to distract himself from it.

It did help that Henry was now walking in front of him—thus providing an alluring enough sight to distract Arthur’s poisonous thoughts for the time being.

That lead to him thinking about things that once again, he really should not be thinking about given their current circumstance….though it was much easier to know that he shouldn’t, then to actually stop doing so. He knew that he had once again majorly fucked up with Henry—the bar brawl had been yet another display of horrendously executed decision making.

Arthur knew that he had been way out of line—both in his actions and words. He had, after all, given up all right in commenting on Harry’s extracurricular activities outside the vague interest a prince might take in one of his subjects. He certainly didn’t have the right to act like a possessive lover any longer….and _logically_ he knew this.

Yet he hadn’t been able to stop his jealously and possessive nature from flaring up at the sight of Gwaine flirting and _touching_ the apprentice. His own regret and guilt over his previous decision in regards to Henry, coupled with his alcohol lowered inhibitions, had caused him to completely ignore the line of propriety and lash out.

It hadn’t even taken until the morning after to realize the error in his judgment and left him feeling distinctly the fool. It was just yet another thing in an alarmingly fast growing list of mistakes that he needed to apologize and make up for to Henry. He was starting to despair ever being able to do so.

So no, despite the slight innate suspicion Morgana and Henry’s story or state of health were giving him, he was not about to further bolic up his chances at redemption with Henry at voicing such thoughts. Even he wasn’t _that_ much of an idiot.

As they moved further and further into the cursed castle center Arthur found himself fighting harder and hard to just keep moving forward. Each consequent step felt as though an extra weight was added to his already straining shoulders….it felt a lot like wading through quicksand without an anchor to pull you free.

He felt his lethargic body pitch forward and knew that there was nothing he could do to prevent the expected impact; even if he had been in the presence of mind to try….his limbs were just too heavy and slow to react. It was in some strange form of déjà-vu that had this gravity influenced descent interrupted by a pair of small but strong hands.

His thoughts hadn’t even caught onto the fact that he was no longer falling before they ground to a halt, caught in the concerned green gaze of his savior.

Had his tired mind not been struggling so against the curse, he might have had the brief flash of thought that the strong pull between them was in fact rather cliché: but he didn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to think anything outside of _want_ and n _eed_ as he looked down into Henry’s eyes. The impossible need to move closer to the other and touch….no, combine—crawl inside the other’s skin; to meld their very souls into a single cohesive unit was unbearable. So strong that it even made him momentarily forget about his bone crushing tiredness.

And he knew from the look in the return gaze, that he was not the only one caught up in this sudden compulsion.

“Henry….” He vaguely recognized the plea slip from his lips as the smaller of the two s face angled up towards his own. He couldn’t even say exactly what it was that he was asking for---but it seemed he did not need to as he felt Henry’s body move corresponding to his own unvoiced question.

It was like all of the mistakes and misunderstandings, all of the danger and road blocks that stood before them, had suddenly crumbled. They no longer mattered in this moment….all that mattered was….

“Arthur! Thank god you’re back!”

And then it was gone.

Arthur wanted to snarl in fury at his manservant’s unintentional sabotage—Merlin’s relieved exclamation breaking whatever strange trance the two men had been under causing Henry to drop his hold and scuttle back as though burnt. His pale cheeks flushed red (in embarrassment or something else, he did not know) as the servant hastily put distance between them….Arthur was only able to blink slowly, trying to clear the fuzziness in his head, but still aware enough to feel a profound feeling of disappointment and loss.

Shaking his head in a vain effort to push his confused feelings away, (because they made no sense….nothing about this made sense!) he drew what little energy he had left and forcibly straightened his spine and shoulders turning towards the direction of Merlin’s cry. “Merlin” the greeting sounded short to his ears—but this was his normal way of interacting with his manservant so it drew no suspicion.

“I think I might have found something!” Merlin’s hopeful tone made the heaviness in Arthur’s chest lift slightly.

At the sudden increased attention he was receiving Merlin hastily ventured forward in his explanation, “before Gaius fell….your father had tasked him to figure out what was wrong or at the very least find some way to reverse it….I think, I think I might have done so….”

The hope in Arthur’s chest swelled, though a side part of his mind frowned when he briefly noted Morgana’s expression going from one of interest to alarmed worry. He pushed his observations aside for the moment, intent on hearing Merlin out.

If the manservant had found a way to reverse whatever this was…..well he swore he would treat him better. Perhaps he wouldn’t make him re-polish all of his armor next week just for kicks….

“I was reading through the text he had on him when he fell…and I found a description of a curse that fits. It causes massive unconsciousness within a certain circumference…”

“How is that circumference determined?” the quiet yet insistent question caused Arthur to startle having momentarily forgotten about the, until now, silent apprentice. And how was that possible? To go from being so consumed by his presence one moment to forgetting the fact that he was there just minutes later?—he could only attribute it to the curse messing with his head.

Morgana shifted nervously “Why does that matter? And how for that matter do you expect us to just trust whatever solution you found?—especially when it comes from some old book? What kind of book would even talk about something like this? A curse?” she interrupted her tone demanding and oddly enough; frightened.

Arthur watched as Henry’s gaze shot towards her holding a varying degree of confusion and warning in it. And again the previous paranoia flared inside him….

Merlin either did not hear his sister’s question or ignored it choosing to answer Henry’s previous question instead. “The spell range is determined by whatever is acting as it’s anchor….the spell is powered by something cursed…..” he seemed to hesitate with his next words before taking a deep breath and pushing forwards, “…usually it is _someone_ not something, which acts as the grounding center of the curse”

Arthur wasn’t the only one who gasped a surprised intake of breath at Merlin’s revelation.

“Someone?” Henry asked again, his voice carefully blank and emotionless.

Merlin nodded his head yes taking another deep breath before proceeding to explain, “Yes, the book said that while it will work with an inanimate object, that too be truly powerful—powerful enough to result in the kind of effect we are seeing right now—that the grounder should be alive….the more soul or living presence present, the stronger the effect. Hence I do not think it is some random animal….” He paused again letting the seriousness and unspoken accusation in his information sink in for a moment before continuing one more, “….I should also mention that it may be a combination of cursed object and willing beacon….in fact the book states that this is the best method for long range casting.”

Consequence and understanding warred with each other in Arthur’s brain as it sluggishly churned to make sense of what Merlin was telling them. Essentially whatever was attacking Camelot was indeed a curse—malignant magic—and that it was most likely in effect because someone within Camelot’s walls was allowing it to be. Someone within Camelot was a magic wielder and a traitor.

And they were four of very few left still awake enough to continue powering the curse.

He didn’t know what to do….what to say. Essentially he had the most likely traitor in front of him at this moment….he found his gaze flickering uneasily between his three ‘friends.’

But before any of them could further comment (or accuse) the straining silence between them was once more broken by a frantic cry. Arthur’s attention zoned to the knight dragging himself towards him—it was one of the few remaining knights he had left to stand guard over his father’s inert form.

At the sight of the man, he felt another swell of relief; he had almost forgotten that there were still others awake….others who could be responsible for the curse….it meant that the three in front of him may be just as innocent as he….

A second later that relief turned to dread, as he recalled that he had left the magic hating, unconscious king, with the alternative suspects. “What is it? Why are you not guarding the king?” he didn’t bother to try and hide the suspicion in his words.

“I…I apologize your hi…ghness…I…w..as. But had to warn you….riders…approaching the front gates….armed” the man’s gasped, slowing speech spilled from him. The effort saying the words obvious. And just like that, the moment the man finished his warning, he stumbled and fell—his body becoming lax with sleep.

But his words remained, and they effectively pushed all previous suspicion and worry from Arthur’s own tired brain as a new and even greater threat to Camelot and its inhabitants presented itself. They were under attack.

They were under attack and they were the only ones left still able to defend the city….

Camelot was doomed.

\--0--

Harry huddled, using his own body to help keep Arthur somewhat vertical….though he knew it was a losing battle. No more than two hours could have passed since their group realized that not only was most of Camelot falling to the curse, but that it would be falling to invading riders rather shortly if a miracle did not occur soon.

The miracle had yet to appear.

Where Harry had once been heavily suspicious of Morgana’s involvement in the events currently unfolding—he was now almost 100% certain of it. From the barely hidden concern she had shown when Merlin first said he knew what was going on, to her continued efforts at stalling them from finding any kind of solution…..there was really only one reason that made sense.

Morgana was involved—and as things went from bad to worse, Harry had the feeling that she was involved in a rather large way; more than even the original castor was. He was almost certain that Morgana Pendragon was acting as the spells anchor.

The very thought made his stomach churn with anxiety....because what Merlin had failed to express was just how the spell could be broken (something that Harry had managed to ask his brother while they as a group, moved the king’s unconscious form to a more secure spot and tried to come up with a game plan to defend Camelot from the ghost like riders cantering through her).

The answer he had finally given did not help ease Harry’s anxiety. To break a curse such as this one; either the original castor had to do so or the castor’s anchor had to be destroyed. And considering that Harry had no idea who the original castor was but **did** know (ok, suspect) who the anchor was, well…..

And if the contemplation of murdering a dear friend wasn’t enough to give him a killer migraine then the increasingly lethargic prince would be. At this point Arthur was barely functioning—his speech was strained, his steps slow and heavy, and his eyes half mast…things were not looking good.

If it had been completely up to him, Harry might have considered just letting the invading army just take and rid Camelot of its problematic King (definitely his other half talking there), but the problem was that he did not know what the riders wanted.

(Ok, so he could sort of guess…but his guesses weren’t all that reassuring)

If he could be sure that the rest of Camelot—the servants, the peasants, hell….even the knights and ladies didn’t suffer then he might have let his darker desires to see Uther dethroned play out but…..

Ok, so he was lying. In truth, while a small part of him **did** care about the people of Camelot, that wasn’t the real reason he was not welcoming the invaders with hugs and kisses….the real reason came down to just one man; or prince really. Damn Arthur.

Because he knew, no matter what the enemies’ intentions were—that they would be fools to leave the crowned prince of Camelot alive after a takeover. So no. The reason he was half bent over—currently debating on whether or not he should confront his friend was solely down to his increasingly annoying and irrational fondness of a certain blond jackass.

Apparently old Voldmort did know a thing or two; emotions truly could be ones down fall.

“We need to move!” his brother’s voice hissed poorly concealed panic causing his voice to shake slightly. Harry had been rather surprised when Merlin, of all people, was the one to volunteer to get closer to the arriving riders (not that he thought that his brother was a coward or anything, it just seemed slightly out of character for the tall wizard to want to get closer to armed assailants. But then he supposed that even he could be faulted for buying into his brother’s helpless act at times. It was often hard to recall that his brother was actually a fairly powerful magic wielder—well for this day and age-- when he was so busy acting the fool in front of Arthur). His arrival back signaled that he had either dealt with the threat—unlikely, or had retreated when he realized that he would not be able to use his magic to do so—more likely.

“They have already breached the inner walls….from what I could see they are moving at a steady pace. T-t-they are slitting the throats of everyone they come across…..” Merlin continued looking a bit ill at the last part. He wasn’t the only one—Morgana’s face went sheet white at his statement.

“B-but they are all unconscious….why would they bother?” she asked her voice hoarse and whispery sounding.

Merlin managed to swallow past his horror and give a weak shrug in reply—Harry thought that the question was rather rhetorical, it was obvious why---any good tactician knew that it was better to make sure that your enemy could not get back up…and what better way to ensure that then death? Still he did not point this out realizing that his insight would likely be unappreciated at the moment.

It worried him slightly that he was not as put out by this knowledge as the other two…once upon of time he too would have been horrified…now though….

He shook his head deciding to worry about it later…he knew he had changed when he merged with Myror; he just hadn’t realized how much.

“How fast are they moving through the streets?” he asked instead—deciding to redirect his companions attention; he felt Arthur struggling to sit up straighter against him. After a few rapid eye blinks it seemed as the prince had once again succeeded in pushing away his desire to let them just stay closed.

Harry had to hand it to him; Arthur did show signs of being able to become a true leader—his desire to see his kingdom and people safe was admirable.

Merlin paused his eyes flickering slightly as he did the mental calculations in his head—his expression was grim when he reached his conclusion, “I can’t say for sure….but definitely less than an hour before they reach us….we are quickly running out of options. I…. _we_ need to find a way to destroy this curse if we are to have any chance at surviving this” Merlin quickly corrected his momentary lapse but the urgency and fear did not leave his tone.

Harry knew that Merlin was right; Morgana obviously did as well because her already pasty color developed a significantly greener tinge. Obviously she knew more about how to destroy the curse then she was letting on.

As though his observation was a silent cue, Morgana cleared her throat doing a commendable job at steadying her voice of nerves before asking, “Wait….” Seeing the attention swinging to rest on her Morgana swallowed slightly before continuing—apparently her need to know just how much Merlin knew about the curse and breaking it, outweighed her obvious desire to remain unobtrusively in the background, “you said that we need to destroy the curse…you make it sound….does that mean that you know how to do so?”

Harry had been wondering as well—just how much was his brother aware of? And since he knew how the curse was destroyed (a given considering he **had** read the old man’s book) did he know who the anchor was?

Harry allowed his eyes to slide over to his (no dammit! **The** ….not _his_ ….)struggling prince, knowing that if Merlin did not know already then Harry would end up telling him. He really did not want to….no matter what strain was currently between him and Morgana, she was still his friend….but if push came to shove….

He never found out what Merlin’s answer was for their whispered conversation was halted by the sound of a distance clattering. The sound was unmistakable---horse hooves on cobblestone; they had wasted too much time, they needed to move and they needed to do so now!

Clearly the others realized this to as their eyes widened at the sound. “We need to move! The only place near too us with decent barricades is the throne room” Merlin hissed his eyes darting anxiously—as though expecting one of the ghost like riders to appear before him at any second.

Harry decided that they had dithered enough, “You and Morgana move Uther—I’ll help Arthur”

True, this might seem a bit reckless considering that he was pretty sure that Morgana was in cahoots with the riders but he would rather risk Uther’s neck then Arthur’s, plus he was pretty sure Merlin would be able to defend himself long enough to get away if it came down to that. He was not truly worried though, Morgana seemed far to intent on hiding her true allegiance to suddenly switch….at least until the original castor appeared.

Merlin looked as though he was going to argue but the sound of a slamming door—really not very far from them—seemed to make him think better of it. He gave a abrupt nod before stooping his long frame to grab Uther (rather roughly—much to Harry’s hidden amusement) under the arm pits, waiting for Morgana to do the same for his feet (which she did—looking equally, if not more so, reluctant then Merlin did).

Assured that they were making their way slowly towards the last hole up, Harry turned his attention back to his own barely awake cargo.

If he hadn’t been so close to the Prince (he needed to be, to carry him!—he was **not** taking advantage of the situation….) he might have missed Arthur’s whispered words completely.

“..Henry I—I need to---I’m sorry…so, so sorry…”

Harry froze, finding himself rather shocked by the blond’s words. Not that the Prince apologizing to him was a rare thing (it was actually becoming something of a reoccurring event in truth), but because this time he sounded so despondent…so….well, small. As though he had waited forever to say the words only to find that he had waited far too long and his time had run out. It was the sound of a man who had given up---and it made Harry’s heart clench.

“Stop it,” his reply came out clipped and scared.

Arthur struggled to straighten his spine—managing to do so out of sheer stubbornness—shaking his head while doing so, “no…I need to….please…I’m sorry Henry…for being such an idiot. For making a decision on my own when it should have been made by two...for making the _wrong_ decision, for…for…everything”

Harry made to respond—not even sure himself what his response was going to be—but was once again silenced as Arthur took a deep breath before struggling to continue,

“I don’t expect you to forgive me….but I needed to say it. I need you to know that I truly care for you….that I lov…”

Harry knew that he could maintain his silence, wait and make the prince say it—but he realized he didn’t need to hear the words. He already knew what Arthur was trying to tell him; it was evident by simply glancing in his eyes.

Feeling far too weary at the continuous delays and roadblocks to reach this point, he could not see the worth in further delaying what he had wanted to do since before that horrid moment in the woods. So he didn’t.

It felt like coming home. Arthur’s lips were dry and cracked—his response lethargic due to the curse, but it still felt like one of the best kisses Harry had ever experienced. The moment their lips met, he knew that nothing else mattered: nothing but this.

And then like an ironic reverse fairytale; Arthur fell asleep.

God damn his luck.

\--o—

Morgana found herself frozen in place, she blinked and even went as far as rubbing her eyes—just in case the stress from everything that had happened that day had finally caused her to lose it and hallucinate.

Anddd…….

No. She wasn’t imaging things: Henry really was kissing her brother. Well, she supposes that it certainly cleared up a few things…definitely answered her previous suspicions about something going on between the two of them. Of course even in her most insane hypothesis she had never truly thought that they were together like, well… _that._

As quietly as she had slid the door open she allowed it to close again. Given that everything was falling down around her ears at the moment, she wasn’t prepared to deal with this new information right now…no, right now she was just going to pretend she hadn’t witnessed the desperate lip lock between the two (just like she was not going to examine the flushed feeling it had caused her).

“What the hell is taking Henry so long?” Merlin asked as soon as he realized that she was back in the room sans either of the two boys she had left to check on. He was pacing restlessly a few feet from the unconscious king looking conflicted on whether he should be standing closer to guard the man or shoving him out one of the windows to his death. Morgana could certainly relate to the feeling….though she knew she had already chosen which of the two it would be.

It wasn’t option A.

She found that she was at quite a loss for what she was supposed to do now….today had not turned out at all like she had thought it would; like Morgause had promised.

She thought she was going to hurl when Merlin first told them that the riders were slitting the unconscious victims’ throats. Her first thought was that he had to be wrong—Morgause had promised her that no one would get hurt because of the curse….she had _promised._

But deep down Morgana knew that Merlin wasn’t mistaken. Deep down, she had known that her sister would not be satisfied with some minor bloodless test, she had known in the back of her head (even when Morgause had first explained the nature of the curse and what they needed from her) that she might be crossing a line that she would not be able to come back from.

And from the expression in Henry’s eyes when they had met hers—she knew that it was too late. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t meant for anyone else (outside of Uther of course—but he hardly counted considering his list of crimes against humanity) to get hurt, it didn’t matter that she thought she was doing just what was necessary to allow her, her new family and her friend to finally live in peace. Now that Morgause’s true plan was unfolding….none of it mattered.

She had helped cause this. These deaths were on her. There was no turning back now…. no matter how she might wish to.

The sound of the door creaking open roused her from her thoughts and she watched feeling strangely detached, as Henry half carried-half dragged her now unconscious brother into the room. The sound of the door slamming shut and the locks sliding into place finally jolted her enough to go over and assist moving Arthur’s limp form.

She tried her hardest not to stare at Henry’s slightly reddened lips. She wasn’t supposed to be aware after all…the bite of betrayal and hurt that it caused caught her off guard. Out of everything that had happened between them she really hadn’t expected it.

After all he had already hidden much larger things from her….and she from him, what was this in the scope of things?

She tried not to think of it. In fact she tried not to think of anything….she knew there were several ways that this could play out; she also knew that none of them were good. Today was going to end in heart break-- the silence between the three of them was only delaying the inevitable.

It seemed as though Merlin had reached this conclusion as well, as he was the first to break it (likely spurred on by the sound of something crashing against the door; though the door continued to hold…if only barely).

“I know how to break the curse” he stated his voice strangely flat.

Despite knowing how this was going to go, Morgana still felt her heart rate spike with fear. It was animal instinct that had her edging away from the manservant—eyes skittering for some means of escape. She was stupid…she should have separated from them earlier…. _why didn’t she separate earlier???_

“We need to destroy the anchor” he continued—his tone never wavering though his steps towards her looked shaky at best, “Morgana…..I know that you are the anchor”

The last bit was said so softly, almost apologetically—yet still laced with confusion and the unvoiced question of WHY? Why did she agree to this? Why would she betray them…her friends? _Why, Why, Why?_

Unable to stop herself her eyes swung over to where Henry stood—like she suspected, there was no surprise on his face at Merlin’s announcement though the despair and sorrow in his eyes nearly overwhelmed her. In that moment she didn’t know the answer to Merlin’s silent questions. She didn’t know _why._

All she knew was that this wasn’t supposed to be this way. This wasn’t how it was meant to play out….still even though she knew that it was pointless, that all three of them knew the truth, she had to try.

Her survival instinct wouldn’t allow for anything else. “What are you talking about?! Are you crazy?!” she barely recognized the high panicked voice for her own.

She continued to back up only to realize that she couldn’t, back hitting the wall she hadn’t even realized she was near. She had no were left to run.

Just as Merlin reached her, his hand resting almost tenderly on her forearm the barricaded door gave way with a deafening bang.

The woosh of power that followed its fall caused Henry (who was nearest to the door) to stumble before righting himself and spinning around to face the disruption.

Despite being furious with her sister for how today had gone down, Morgana could not deny that she was happy to see her in this moment. She looked magnificent standing there—her wild curls blowing despite there being no wind to speak of, the power that the curse was emanating through her evident in every cell of her being; from her stance to her slightly glowing eyes.

And just like that Morgana found her despair and indecision leaving her. Morgause looked amazing—she looked powerful; **Magical**. She looked like a witch in that moment.

This was what Morgana was doing this for. This was why she was risking everything….

She was doing it for Magic. For freedom.

It was that split moment of distraction that allowed Merlin to get the upper hand, she felt the shock and fear return when she realized that he had her back pressed against his chest, a dagger held to her throat. It didn’t matter that he was shaking like a leaf--- it was clear that he, at least, had made it clear on which side he stood.

“Release the spell Morgause or I will be forced to kill her” he demanded, his voice was surprisingly steady.

She could not find it in herself to be surprised by his words…she had known that this was one of the possible outcomes—no she was not surprised, but she was still hurt. But what hurt her even more then having her friend threaten her life, was watching her other friend, her _mento_ r, stand across the room frozen. He made no move to intervene on her behalf, he voiced no protest; he just stood there.

’Though given what she had witnessed earlier could she really be surprised?’ she wondered bitterly. It was clear who Henry had chosen; and it wasn’t her.

She didn’t even listen to the following arguments between her captor and her sister—the fancy dance that Morgause tried to play to ensure she got everything that she wanted (though she was aware that it failed by the increased pressure of the knife).

To be honest, she was a little surprised when Morgause conceded to Merlin’s demands and lifted the curse instead of choosing her ultimate goal over her sister’s life. It only made her more grateful to the witch.

The second before they disappeared, escaping away from Camelot (likely the last time she would see her home for quite some time) she found herself seeking her former mentor out one last time.

Yes, there was apology in his gaze but too, there was an unmistakable challenge.

They had all chosen their sides.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: 
> 
> Chapter title: From the nursery rhyme titled: Little Boy Blue
> 
> Little boy blue,  
>  come blow your horn,   
>  The sheep's in the meadow,   
> the cows in the corn.  
>  Where is the little boy  
>  who looks after the sheep?   
> He's under the haystack,   
> fast asleep


	18. If Wishes were horses, beggars would ride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for the long wait, thank you for once again being so incredibly patient ;) This chapter deals mainly with Arthur/Harry's relationship touching on certain aspects of it that may come to cause them problems in the near future. The next chapter will have a time jump and things will finally start to resolve or blow up ;) please leave me a comment! Enjoy!

* * *

 

_People don’t want to hear the truth, because they don’t want their illusions destroyed—Fredrich Nietzsche_

* * *

 

“Did you mean it?”

Arthur blinked lethargically at the warm body next to him, his mind still coming down from their earlier activities. As horrible as seeing his whole kingdom almost fall because of a curse—a curse that ultimately stole his sister from him—he couldn’t quite stop himself from being thankful that it had happened in the first place. And wasn’t that messed up?

In truth, he hadn’t yet allowed himself to grief over the losing Morgana—his mind simply seemed to rebel at the notion that she was truly gone and they were not going to be able to get her back (like they had when the bandits kidnapped her). Morgause was not some low brow thug—no, apparently she was an incredibly powerful sorceress who now had Morgana completely under her mercy. It was not a hopeful situation.

Still he wouldn’t, no, _couldn’t,_ give up yet. Even if Merlin—and even Henry seemed to be a bit sketchy with the details of how exactly or _why_ Morgause had taken Morgana to begin with. And even more reluctant to do anything about it. He knew that they—Merlin especially, had been acting nervous and twitchy whenever he came up with a new plan of rescue or idea. He didn’t understand why though….well unless they thought that there truly was no hope in getting her back….

He hastily shut down that line of thinking and instead turned his mind to happier thoughts and observations. Like, for example, the deliciously naked boy beside him.

And yes, the naked boy (or Henry to be exact) was entirely responsible for Arthur not quite being able to regret the Camelot Coma. It had, after all, allowed him to finally get over himself and truly apologize to Henry….even more importantly, it seemed as though it had allowed the wary teen to finally forgive him.

How could he have ever thought throwing this away, ignoring their connection, was a good idea?

“Hmmm?” he questioned still too distracted by the plains of pale flesh before him to truly try and comprehend what his partner was asking.

“Before….just before you fell asleep. Y-you said some things. Did you mean them or was it just…” Henry trailed off sounding strangely vulnerable despite his efforts at trying to seem as though he didn’t care what Arthur’s answer was.

Before….before….what had he said?......Oh.

He didn’t pause in his indignant reply, “Of course I did! I wouldn’t have said them otherwise; do you think that I would say it just to lie to you?”

“I know, but well….people tend to say all sorts of things they don’t mean when faced with life or death situations” Henry rebutted just as quickly. Despite his vocal agreement, Arthur could sense that he still didn’t really believe Arthur in what he said.

And maybe he was right too. Because while Arthur was definitely not lying—he truly had meant what he had been trying to tell the man—now that the danger had passed he couldn’t quite bring himself to say it again, in its complete, unmodified form. So he said as much as he _could_ manage.

“Look at me” he demanded, his voice leaving no room to ignore. Despite that it seemed as though Henry was debating on whether or not to follow his instruction—but in the end conceded and raised his eyes off of where they had been tracing invisible lines along the prince’s sun tanned chest.

“I meant every word. I will not apologize again—because I meant it the first time and to do so again would be insincere. But I meant it Henry. And I _do_ care for you….more than anyone else I have ever encountered”

Henry seemed to study him for a long moment before tilting his chin slightly as though in acknowledgement of the prince’s words. He slowly inched away from where he had been comfortably lying, half sprawled on top of Arthur’s chest to turn more fully towards Arthur. Squaring himself both internally and externally for what he was going to say.

“I care for you too….a lot.” He paused noting the way that his words caused the corners of Arthur’s mouth to turn up—he only hoped that he would not completely ruin that happiness with his next admission. But he knew that he needed to say it. He couldn’t continue building this with a lie.

“Which is why I need to tell you something”

He saw more than felt the prince tense at his rushed words. He knew that there was only a very small chance that this would turn out how he wanted it to. But he knew that if he continued to wait and Arthur ended up finding out in some other way, from someone else, that there wouldn’t even be that small chance at a happy conclusion.

He needed to tell Arthur about magic. More specifically; _his magic._

_-0—_

Despite everything that had occurred, Gwen found herself making her way towards the Prince’s chambers with a jubilant heart. Yes she was saddened that, once again, her friend and mistress had been taken from them. Yes she was aware of the damage done to Camelot during those hours of slumber (she herself only recalled kneading dough one minute and awaking to find it stuck to her cheek the next) but despite all of this she was still feeling more hopeful then she had in months.

And maybe it had a little to do with the fact that she had finally made up her mind and decided to try to pursue a _real r_ elationship with Arthur. She had allowed what happened between them (his complete dismissal of her while under the curse months before) during the tournament and Princesses Vivian’s disastrous stay to cloud her drive to get what she wanted (because she had always had a forceful, assertive nature and in the past she would never had something like a little doubt stop her from pursing what she desired).

This last curse—the fact that they all could have been lost, without her even being aware of it (she had slept through it after all)—was just the push she needed to give her courage to try once again. She was done with letting her doubts and fears (and imagined delusions—because there was _no_ way that Henry was what the Prince wanted!!) hold her back. No more!

And perhaps she had been a little overeager to take Merlin’s morning duties from him (the fact that he had seemed so desperate to get out of them was strange in itself. For while Merlin often complained about Arthur’s bullying and treatment towards his person, he had never truly shirked his given duties. But she decided that she wouldn’t delve into the real reason Merlin was feeling ‘ill’ this morning—it didn’t really matter if it suited her goals after all).

Still she couldn’t help but feel her heart beat with rising hope with each step closer. She could easily push aside her guilt at not feeling more torn up over her friends kidnapping—things changed after all; and that included loyalty and friendship. And it was safe to say that things had definitely changed in the past few months.

Morgana and she had long since been the bosom buddies that they had once been—whispering secrets to each other and trusting each other as confidents and sisters rather than mistress and servant. Gwen hadn’t even noticed when their relationship had started to shift; it was only after Morgana’s second disappearance that she truly became aware of just how distant they had grown. And thinking back on it, there was only one common denominator to when Morgana started to distance herself from her one time best friend. It was the same one that could be traced to Arthur’s sudden change of heart and actions towards her (where he had once been overly sweet and courteous towards her---he now barely noticed her when she was in his presence!).

Yes one thing, or rather _person_ , had been the catalyst to all the shifting loyalties amongst Camelot’s royal court; Henry Emrys.

And didn’t that just sting? How could one boy, a relative nobody of little social grace or standing, just drop out of who-knows-where and affect those around him so strongly? What was it about the green eyed boy that was so different from the rest of them? What did he have that she did not?

Gwen couldn’t help but be suspicious…..it wasn’t natural to change people so easily or quickly….no there had to be something more going on….

Gwen gave her head a mental shake, this morning was not the time to think on the suspicious boy, no, this morning she was going to start to truly test just where she stood with the Prince. Once and for all she would know—something in her gut just told her today was the day…

Taking a deep breath to fortify her rising nerves she pulled back her hand and let it fall in a decisive knock against the solid oak doors.

“Your highness?” she called out to announce her presence.

The sound of muffled cursing (or at least that was what she thought she heard—she couldn’t quite stop the blush that tinted her cheeks at some of it), silence, followed by a thud and more cursing were the answer she received. And didn’t that sound a lot like…well… _two_ voices?

Gwen was just about to knock a second time when a second longer pause of silence seem to stretch forward unendingly.

Finally the muffled, rather strained voice of Prince Arthur answered her original query.

“You may enter”

She was trying to keep her mind from jumping to obvious conclusions. She may have been inexperienced, and in proper court terms, still more or less ‘pure,’ but she was not completely naïve. She understood the implications of there being a second voice in the Prince’s private chambers this early. She was desperately attempting to convince herself that she was wrong…..

With a few seconds of extra effort as she tentatively pushed open the large doors—discretely, if rather desperately scanning the room for a second body, breathing out a sigh of relief at seeing none—she had almost managed. Plus….it wasn’t that big of a deal even if there was some little harlot in Arthur’s bed.

He was a prince after all….she couldn’t expect him not to deal with his certain needs when he did not yet know that she was interested (because he couldn’t be aware—despite how obvious she had been in the past, otherwise he would never….right?). As long as it was just some frivolous onetime thing with someone of no standing….something that would definitely end once he was properly courting her…..

It was fine. It would be fine.

“Good morning Arthur” she greeted demurely—for once using his first name without prompting (way back he had told her to just call him Arthur, but she had still been unsure what she wanted and had been rather reluctant to greet the man in such a familiar way), quickly ducking her head to hide her red cheeks. It wasn’t her fault!! The man was casually (although if she took the time to look closer she would have noticed his casual posture was actually strained with tension) lying in bed, a light night shirt hanging open, blankets pooled at the waist to obscure anything below.

He had always taken care to be completely dressed when he had spent those few brief days living at her place. Now she found herself wishing he hadn’t.

“Where’s Merlin?” Arthur demanded, and Gwen almost flinched at the abruptness in his tone. She just as quickly brushed it off—Merlin had often complained to her about how Arthur was not a morning person…he was likely just a bit crabby about being woken up (and yes, she ignored the sounds she had heard before arriving indicating that he had _already_ been awake).

Moving across the room to where the fire was already burning cheerily in its grate (another indicator that Arthur had already been awake for some time) and moving a kettle to start heating water for his daily wash up she answered as evenly as she could.

“Merlin asked me to attend to his duties this morning your highness; he said he is feeling rather under the weather—probably from the stress of yesterday. It’s really no problem, I can easily help you get ready for the day…” she trailed off hoping that he would agree.

Arthur’s frown deepened at her words but he seemed to accept them anyway as she moved the boiling water to mix with the already present cold he slowly pushed himself out of bed. Gwen tried to keep her eyes trained on what she was doing….really she did!....but they somehow seemed to just gravitate towards the princess’s half naked form (though she found herself rather disappointed by the fact that he was in fact wearing britches).

Almost as though he sensed her gaze he hastily moved behind his dressing screen to escape it, “You can tidy up and lay breakfast, but I will wash and dress myself”

Despite knowing that this was the most likely course of action (not to mention proper) for the prince to take, Gwen couldn’t help but feel let down. She had thought that by presenting herself in such a way—offering a easy excuse for the prince to have her near when he was, well,…. _anyway,_ she had thought that he would jump on the chance. Not stick to protocol and dismiss her…..

But then, maybe he was just trying to show her respect by doing so? Yes, that must be it; he was too much a gentlemen to take advantage of a maiden as pure as her in such a way……

Marginally cheered, Gwen hastily set to completing her tasks. Quickly picking up the various strewn items of clothing—internally chuckling at what a slob the prince was to discard his clothing in such a way….sometimes Arthur really did seem like a little boy—she found herself coming to a halt at one such item.

And no, it wasn’t because it was something of astounding fine quality and beauty (quite the opposite really….it was rather rough and plain) but because she recognized it; and not as Arthur’s. No the well oiled leather arm band was one that she had only seen on one particular person.

She had noted it because it had such a strange silver symbol carved into it. At the time she had simply thought that it was a compass—though now up close, she could see that she was wrong. Instead of the more common four arrowed sign—representing the various directions, this circle consisted of eight arrows. Interesting, true. But not what had made her freeze in horror at discovering it.

No that had to do entirely with who she knew to be the previous owner of such relic. She had only seen this arm band on one person; Henry Emrys.

What the hell was Henry’s arm band doing lying amongst the Princes discarded clothing?

Sadly she already knew the answer. And it infuriated her. What she had been trying so hard to dismiss as paranoid worries on her part finally fell away. She knew in that moment that those thoughts had not been as contrived as she had wanted them to be.

How dare he? First her friendship with Morgana? Now her future with Arthur?---oh, hell no!

This was the last straw. He would pay---they both would! No one, and just meant NOONE humiliated Guinevere without out repercussion.

No one.

\--00—

“She’s gone” Arthur’s voice reached him where he was currently pressed against the door hiding a servant’s chamber located just behind Arthur’s changing screen (Harry still found himself astounded by the number of hidden nooks and crannies littering Camelot’s Citadel. The pure security risk that that posed was mind boggling, but he suppose it was just part of how these ancient fortresses were made—people of this time just dismissed the possibility that their own household and servants could pose any real threat to them. Stupid yes, but in his case—very useful).

Letting out the breath he hadn’t even been aware he had been holding, Harry carefully opened the nearly invisible side door and slid back into Arthur’s chambers moving to finish pulling on last night’s clothing (clothing he had thankfully had the foresight to grab off of Arthur’s floor before scurrying to hide at Gwen’s knock. He did not need to deal with that annoying bint knowing more then she needed to right now…..and yes his thoughts towards Gwen had taken a rather sharp down curve after hearing her basically throw herself at his man! Annoying twat! Now where the hell did his wrist guard get to…?).

“Good—I was afraid that she was going to start throwing her knickers at you” Harry replied sarcastically with just the wee tinge of jealousy (he figured that it was the least he could be excused with, considering Arthur’s previous overreactions to various people who were just friends with him! At least Gwaine hadn’t truly meant anything by his flirting and didn’t in truth, have any real intention of taking things further. Gwen on the other hand, was clearly a different story all together!)

“knickers?” Arthur asked confused.

Harry wanted to hit his head against something—preferably something hard. Sometimes he forgot that he was in a very different time and place from where he had come from. This was not the first nor likely the last time that he would make some slip with his words.

Harry just shook his head in dismissal finishing tying the laces on his breaches, “Never mind…” he muttered—he himself, not entirely sure why he was taking such offense to this morning’s interruption. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t known that Gwen had been hankering after the Prince for some time….hell, he had even witnessed it on several occasions….yet….

And okay, so maybe he did know why he was taking such offense now; he had been so close to finally coming clean with Arthur, to telling him the truth….now though….

Well now that they had been interrupted he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. It was as if the momentum of his decision had just fizzled out…he knew he _should_ still do it….he knew this; he just couldn’t.

Not now….maybe he would try again later….yes…maybe tonight or tomorrow…or hell even next week. Anytime was better than now; surely.

“Hey….” Arthur’s surprisingly soft tone interrupted his mental worrying and he felt rather then saw him press back up against Harry’s back, “Stop it. Whatever you’re worrying about _stop._ I won’t change my mind Henry….I told you before, it’s _you_ that I want, not some silly little girl. You….Ok?” he punctuated his statement by pressing a soft kiss to the base of Harry’s neck.

And despite himself Harry couldn’t help but feel his body relax back into Arthur’s—the hidden tension leaking away from his shoulders as he moved his neck to the side to allow Arthur better room. Arthur obliged and continued his trail of bites and kisses downwards, stopping (to Harry’s moaned protest) to spin the slim boy around so that their fronts were now pressed against each other instead.

Harry soon lost himself to the wonderful invasion of Arthur’s mouth and tongue, unconsciously rolling his hips to grind his hardening interest together with Arthur’s very obvious one. It wasn’t until quite awhile later—bringing both boys dazedly from their releases, that Arthur finally managed to ask the question Harry had been dreading since Gwen’s interruption.

“God….what you do to me” he muttered placing a slower languid kiss to Harry’s lip, rolling slightly so that he was no longer pressing the other boy into the table they had somehow ended up against and basically on top. With a sigh he managed to drag himself away from where Harry lay lazily, “Hey….you wanted to tell me something earlier?”

It was akin to the horrid ice sloshes that the twin Weasleys so loved to upend on their unsuspecting victims—it, like they, managed to clear Harry’s mind and pleasured body completely.

Starting up at Arthur’s trusting face, Harry knew that he couldn’t do it now---there was just no way he could bring forth the confrontation that would no doubt follow should he tell him. “Oh…I forget…it was nothing….really” he lied, his face carefully hiding the conflict and despair he felt.

Arthur shot him a disbelieving look (there was definitely a bit of suspicion in it as well) but seemed to decide to let Harry keep his secret for the time being. “Alright, if you say so…”

Giving his best easy smile—well aware that it was more than a little strained—Harry walked forth intent on distracting Arthur from any further questioning, “I do….now how about we get one more round in before we have to leave your chambers for the real world?” he questioned coyly, trying to ignore the bubbling guilt inside.

It worked.

Arthur’s expression cleared into one of want, “how could I ever deny you?” he asked pulling the unresisting boy to him for another passionate lip lock.

Even as he was pushed once more down onto Arthur’s rumpled bed sheets and started to lose his mind to the pleasure and friction; Harry couldn’t help but feel that today’s events were going to come back and bite him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Title taken from the nursery rhyme: If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.
> 
> If wishes were horses, beggars would ride:
> 
> If turnips were watches, I'd wear one by my side,:
> 
> If, Ifs and Ands were pots and pans,
> 
> There'd be no work for tinkers' hands
> 
>  
> 
> I chose this simply to try and illustrate the fact that Gwen is once again entertaining delusional thoughts based on her wish of Arthur to be hers. Also alluding to Harry’s (possibly) daydream that Arthur will accept his magic when Harry tells him.


	19. The Grand old Duke of York: Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, so here is part one of the next chapter. I am planning on starting to bring the story to its climax in the second half of this chapter and then resolving things within one to two chapters with an epilogue. so 3-4 more uploads? anyway this is a fairly short chapter but hopefully still enjoyable? 
> 
> anyway Read and review!

 

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_“This is beyond understanding." said the king. "You are the wisest man alive. You know what is preparing. Why do you not make a plan to save yourself?" And Merlin said quietly, "Because I am wise. In the combat between wisdom and feeling, wisdom never wins.” ―_ [ _John Steinbeck_ ](http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/585.John_Steinbeck) _,_ [ _The Acts of King Arthur and His Noble Knights_ ](http://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/474953)

* * *

 

Almost a year later

\--0—

(9-10 months after)

“It’s time”

Morgana startled from where she had been staring pensively out of the grungy window. She was surprised to find that Morgause had entered the room without her having even noticed. Then again she found that she noticed little these days, her disconnection with the world and those around her seemed to only have gotten worse lately. Again, she wondered if she had made a horrible mistake….

No, cancel that: she knew she had….but as things were now she couldn’t take it back….it was far too late for that. At least that was what she believed.

She turned away from her sister—whose face was no longer it’s once beautiful visage, she still couldn’t believe that Merlin (Merlin of all people!?) had been the one to wound the powerful witch….it felt as though the betrayals just kept coming. Did Henry know that Merlin had magic as well? He must have, they were brothers after all…she couldn’t help but feel further hurt over this newest secret, had he really not trusted her at all?—back to the blackened tree-d scenery.

They had been hiding in this cesspool for some time now and she was so very sick of it and everything it represented. When she had first escaped with Morgause (because at that point she had meant to leave—she had seen the decision in Merlin, and worse Henry’s, eyes…she was no longer welcome in Camelot after what she had allowed to take place) they had moved fairly often, never staying in one place for too long.

She knew that they would be searching for her—whether to imprison or rescue, she did not know. She didn’t know what they would tell Arthur and the king about her….she wasn’t sure what her family would believe even if they had told the truth—but she did know that they would search one way or another; so they had to be careful not to be found.

They weren’t just running though…she knew without Morgause having to tell her that her sister was not content to live out their remaining (however little might be left of them) lives in peace. She had known for a long time that Morgause was power hungry, and that despite having seemingly ‘saved’ her from Merlin’s hands, she knew that it was not entirely because of some long time family loyalty or love. She knew that Morgause had and still saw her as a way to gain what she truly wanted; the Camelot throne.

Still she went along with it….partly because she didn’t have very many options left open to her but more because she still thought she was right. Uther was a blight upon magic and her children…he would continue to massacre without guilt until he was stopped. Henry may not condone how she was going about it but that mattered little now. If tricking, killing and lying were the only way to remove Uther from the throne (and even Arthur, should he not be made to see reason) then she would do it.

Morgause might turn out to be a problem later on…but at least she would not be a problem to those with magic. Her sister, despite all her faults, respected and valued those with the gift—no matter what her personal grievances with them was. At least she hoped so.

“Are you not listening sister? I will not have you screw this up with some sense of misplaced guilt or morality” Morgause hissed—sounding thoroughly vexed by Morgana’s continued silence.

“No I heard you” Morgana replied emotionlessly. These last few months had been nothing but Morgause’s irritation and her flat affect. She knew that she was both annoying, and maybe even hurting, her sister with her lifelessness but she couldn’t quite bring herself to care. She would go through with the plan because it would save magic but she would not enjoy doing it.

No matter that she had come to care (at least somewhat) for her sister, her first kinship and loyalty would always be to Henry. He had showed her that she was not alone; he had taught and teased her, pushed and helped her grow. Even his betrayal and secrets could not remove her affection for the boy entirely…..

If only he would just see reason!

She could feel Morgause’s scowl without looking at her, “You had better be sure sister. Once we start this plan there will be no turning back….Uther has only grown more vicious since your ‘kidnapping’ and it is your brethren, those with the gift, that are paying the most heavily. There is no other way….you must realize this”

“I know”

And she did. Plus if Morgause was being completely truthful (something she was rather doubtful about considering how ‘truthful’ her sister had been with her in the past) then Henry would soon be _made_ to see reason. The liquid concoction that was the main reason they had been hiding away for so many months (other than trying to avoid another run in with Merlin and her still looking brother*) would guarantee it.

Morgause promised that once consumed it would remove Henry’s continued loyalty to Arthur (and therefore Uther—because while she knew her friend despised Uther, he wouldn’t do anything against him in fear of hurting her brother) and attach it to their own side.

She knew that it was wrong, that she should not force his loyalty,..but desperate times. He would forgive her once Uther was dead and Camelot was under magic’s rule. He would. Maybe they could give the potion to Arthur as well….allow Henry to have what he obviously so wanted, and have it out in the open….

She felt Morgause slip the vial deep into her cloak pocket, “You know what to do then”

“I do” she agreed finally turning away from the desolate dirt streaked view, “I’ll be in contact when I’m able”

She felt rather then saw Morgause pull her into a loose hug, “Magic’s future is in your hands sister. Don’t betray her”

Morgana didn’t look back as she walked out the door.

-0-

Morgause let out a huff of irritation as she caught Mordred sending her a yet another look. She was sure he thought he was being discrete with his silent judgment. He wasn’t (she had a third eye for things like that).

“What?!” she snapped finally having had enough. To add to her overall bad mood, not only were they eating stale bread and some sort of unidentifiable meat mush _again_ , but she couldn’t quite shake off her own lingering doubts. Not that she would ever admit to doubt in the first place; it was beneath her.

Mordred’s spoon paused on its way to his mouth; he didn’t even look a little bit sheepish or apologetic for having been caught out. He seemed to internally debate for a moment before carefully setting down his utensil, food being left untouched.

“Do you think it wise to have sent Morgana?” he asked cautiously. While his tone was flat, not giving away what he might truly think, she was smart enough to hear what was left unsaid.

“Of course it was. She can pull this off….surely after all the training I…no _we_ have given her in the last year, all of the history of our people and the truths she had been blinded to before, you cannot doubt that”

“No…I don’t doubt that she _can_ , rather that she _will_ ” Mordred stated frankly his gaze unwavering despite the deadly warning her own was giving.

How dare he question her sister…..more importantly; how dare he question her? Because that was what he was doing when he questioned Morgana’s loyalty, he was also questioning her own ability to secure such loyalty. She would not have it. No matter that they were allies and she trusted his judgment more than most.

“You think she will betray us? After everything? After we uncovered and exposed the lies that her own father, brother, and even Henry Emrys fed her?” she asked dangerously.

Mordred remained silent for a period and she thought that he just might listen to her tone and back down but it would seem that he truly was worried about this. Not that she could blame him she would be worried too….that is, if she didn’t know what she did.

She had, after all, already placed measures to protect them from just such a thing…..sure Morgana was family, but well….blood was only so thick…Still she couldn’t help but feel a smidgeon of unease despite what she knew.

But it was virtually impossible for Morgana to betray her now…no she was just being paranoid. Her plan would go exactly as planned and she would finally get what was rightfully hers. Camelot had been under mundane rule for far too long.

“She does seem to have unnaturally strong feelings of affections towards Emrys and even, to a lesser degree, to the others that are in Camelot” Mordred finally settled on.

“That bracelet is not just for show Mordred. Surely you know that” Morgause lightly chided. He did know after all…or he should. Sure she hadn’t let him in on every single detail of her plan but he was smart enough to at least guess the gist of it. And the fact that Morgana was always wearing that bracelet…..and steadily growing more and more loyal to Morgause and less and less so to Camelot could not have been completely lost on the Sorcerer.

The bracelet had been, perhaps, one of the best items Morgause had ever come upon. The most useful, definitely. Sure there were many magical who would disagree—call it dark and tainting—but they were the ones who refused to fight back. They were the ones who cowered and practiced their arts in secret, afraid to be exposed by their neighbors, silently hating but doing nothing to oppose Uther’s tyrannical reign.

No…..sure it might feed on anger and hate, creating, amplifying and spreading them specifically, but it was just what she needed in this case. The spat and already lingering hurt and betrayal between her sister and her closest confidant…not to mention Morgana’s long standing aggravation of Arthur and her down right despise of Uther, only served to help strengthen her and Morgana’s own bond. These feelings of mistrust would only further her own goals in the end.

So yes if a bit of questionable magic was what it took to get what she wanted, then so be it.

This was war; wars were not won without casualties….even if they were caused by friendly fire. She was confident that when all was said in done, even if she lost a few allies in the end, that _she_ at least, would be left standing.

She took Mordred’s silence as acceptance; completely missing the way his shuttered gaze wandered over to his belongings. Belongings, that held a certain assassin provided clear potion.

Too bad for her there were more than two sides in this ever changing war of wills.

\--0—

Arthur felt the smile on his face brighten as he looked down at his lovers sun dappled face. Henry wasn’t exactly sleeping as he rested back against the Prince, simply sun tanning his eyelids. Arthur had found the expression hilarious when Henry first used it—he often found a lot of Henry’s words and phrases a tad strange though, so it was nothing new.

“Stop thinking so hard, you’re giving me a headache” said boy murmured barely moving in his position but somehow still sensing Arthur’s thoughts. The sharp elbow that poked into his side when he smirked in amusement only proved it so.

Despite having only recently returned from a long and rather trying expedition (yet another several week journey across treacherous lands in hopes of locating the still missing Morgana) Arthur felt peaceful in the here and now.

It was easy to ignore the mounting tensions within the kingdom when he was enjoying a secluded break with his still secret lover in front of their well hidden lake.

It was only in the past year that he had actually even found the lake despite knowing he had ridden near here for years. It was weird but he had decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Plus the lake offered an almost perfect spot to be with Henry—nicely hidden from view by thick trees, the rocky terrain and foreboding mists encircling it (yet somehow remaining absent when one actually got to the lake) deterring others from stumbling upon the hidden sanctuary.

And he needed the break, Did He Ever.

He hated to say it, but his father was close to losing it: if he hadn’t done so already. The disappearance of his ward at the hands of Morgause—a confirmed witch had made his hunt for the occult even more obsessive. His previous hatred of all things magic looked mild in comparison to his actions of the last year. He no longer even held trials for those accused, simply executed on sight….and the fear and resentment from his subjects was growing. And growing quickly.

Not to say that all of Camelot’s citizens felt that Uther was wrong—no that was the problem; there was a good portion who like Uther, blamed not only their princesses kidnapping but all their problems (no matter how big or small) on the work of sorcerers. Even Arthur (who had come to severely dislike magic and all its forms) could see that many of the things going wrong within Camelot’s walls had nothing to do with any supernatural cause. Though he suppose that the tax hikes, increased security and raids on people’s private residences could be correlations of magic; they were necessary because of Uther’s increased paranoia against it, after all.

The suspicion and fear running rampant within the gates was stifling—and had it not been carried with him on ‘Morgana missions’ (another term coined by his cheeky lover) he would have almost been thankful for the escape from Camelot they leant him. As it was, the only true escape he had found was his ‘one on one’ time with the physician’s apprentice.

He was starting to realize that he would not, no, _could_ not, give it up for anything.  

He felt chapped lips brush against the underside of his jaw and leaned his head back to give his lover better access. “I thought I told you to stop your worrying” Henry teasingly reprimanded delivering a slightly chastising bite. Though the soothing kiss that followed sort of defeated the original reprimand. Not that Arthur minded.

“Hmmm….no…I believe…you told me to….stop….thinking hard” Arthur managed to get out even though it was getting harder and harder to keep focus on what he was trying to say. Again he couldn’t find himself minding.

“Potato…patoto” Henry murmured as he continued his trail from Arthur’s jaw downwards. Arthur couldn’t hold back his groan as the descent continued.

“Well….then perhaps…ugghh…perhaps you should do a better job at distracting me” he challenged even as Henry got ready to do just that.

However before the green eyed teen could r _eally_ start anything the sound of a twig snapping alerted them to the fact that their secret place was about to become not so secret.

Henry had just managed to yank himself backwards (off of where he had sat himself on Arthur’s lap) when the perpetrator stumbled into view.

It took Arthur a minute—the dirty rag wearing woman, dark hair filled with twigs and debris, mud coating almost every piece of visible skin and clothing—to recognize her for who she was.

He couldn’t believe it. No way. He felt his heart soar in hope even as disbelief and doubt sounded in his exclamation,

“Morgana?!? Is that you?”

He never noticed how Henry’s previously flushed face lost all colour.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:
> 
> AN: ‘Morgana you cock blocker, you’…heh heh, We are getting close to the last few chapters. I have 3-4 left…though I am going away for a month starting in April so I will try to get up one more chapter before I go but no promises……
> 
> *While the plot/actions have majorly veered away from the cannon I still think that Uther and Arthur would be searching relentlessly for Morgana believing her to be kidnapped. I also am choosing to have had Merlin and Arthur run into Morgause at some point after Morgana’s disappearance and like in the cannon Merlin used magic (secretly—Arthur is still very much unaware) to defend himself and ended up disfiguring Morgause. This is the point where Morgana learns that Merlin has magic and that she was never told.
> 
> **I am choosing to completely ignore the whole dragon escape and attack on Camelot bit simply because it doesn’t fit in with my story. ;)


	20. The Grand Old Duke of York: Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, long time...and no this story has not been abandoned. I sadly have been running into one life block after another, some bad (having to move, computer malfunctioning) some good (a very much appreciated trip!) but I am back now and hopefully so to are the more reliable updates ;)
> 
> Here is the second half of the long promised chapter...I apologize in advance (I suck at writing action scenes). Hopefully you still enjoy it. Either way drop be a thread!

* * *

 

\--oo—

Harry swallowed his throat feeling suddenly rather parched. The noise of celebration swelled and deafened—the court too far gone in their jovial drinking to remember that as lords and ladies, they were supposed to show some sort of decorum.

Though they were hardly the only ones.

The surprise return of the King’s ward had Uther pulling out all stops. The many esteemed guests included, but were not limited to; various neighboring allies, Camelot’s richest Lords and Ladies, and the knights who had spent long months in search for Morgana.

Then of course there were the servants necessary to serve such a large guest list—though they hardly counted. It was the last category that Harry fell into; it was also his inclusion in the latter that placed his and his brother’s necks at such risk. They had been lucky to have escaped Uther’s rage for even having been in the same vicinity as Morgana when she was kidnapped…now though…

Now that she was back and able to tell the King just what happened that fateful day (or at least her version of it—though to be fair, Merlin _had_ threatened her life) he would be lucky to see tomorrow’s sunrise. One had to wonder why he was staying when he knew this. Hell, even he wondered why he was still here.

Sometimes he thought he should have been placed in Hufflepuff rather than Gryffindor; he had the damnable thrice cursed loyalty of a badger after all. Considering how Merlin had treated him in the past (even if he had gotten better recently) he knew that he owed his brother nothing. Certainly he shouldn’t stay around to somehow try and protect Merlin from the fallout of his previous actions. But he couldn’t help it.

He couldn’t help it because, despite everything, things _had_ been getting better. Merlin had been slowly becoming the brother that Harry had always wanted….sure they had a ways to go, but they were getting there. And if he was going to be perfectly honest; he didn’t want to leave Arthur behind.

Yes, he was a fool.

So he was left waiting for the other shoe to drop…. and by the way that Morgana had been staring at him all night (when Uther was not looking that is), he couldn’t help but feel like it was going to fall rather soon.

-0-

Morgana narrowed her eyes as she watched his wary approach. The churning guilt she felt at what she planned on doing did not entirely erase the anger and betrayal she still felt over her friend’s lies and mistruths. No, definitely not.

She knew that she was at least equally in the wrong over her own half truths (or would be when she finally carried out the plan—most likely she would be even more responsible for the rift between them at that point) but as of now…..

Right now _he_ was more in the wrong then she was—he had lied to her from the moment they met and she had no doubt that he was still doing so. So yes she was still rather pissed, and she wasn’t about to hide that fact.

Henry seemed to pick up on her mood as his expression became even more guarded then before, but despite his clear reluctance, he did not falter in his path. “Your Highness” his greeting was formal and stiff and only further stroked her own anger.

They were friends! Or at least they had been…..how had things fallen so far?

Not trusting her volatile emotions at the moment, she responded with a tight nod, choosing to wait and see what he wanted before risking opening her mouth. Who knew what would come out if she allowed herself to do so?

The raven haired man shifted his weight uneasily, his eyes darting to take in those around them—searching to see if anyone was paying them any mind. No one was—they were all to lost in their celebrations to pay anyone else any attention (even if that anyone was the reason they were all here celebrating). “Can I speak with you?” Henry asked lowly. When Morgana nodded but made no other move, he continued—equally as quiet, “in private?”

She debated on denying him out of spite. She was after all still very very angry with him and his brother (though no one had any right to deny her the right to be angry at Merlin—he had threatened her life after all!). But she knew that was the childish spiteful side of her speaking. The more centered logical side knew that they had to talk eventually….if only to draw lines once and for all.

She felt a beat of anticipation while simultaneously feeling an overwhelming weight of dread.

“Fine” she agreed spinning on her heel to lead him out of the noisy hall. No one would miss them for a while—and if anyone asked it was easy enough to say she had been feeling overwhelmed by the festivities and needed a breath of air.

They walked in heavy silence until they reached the outer reaches of the citadel complex---only the tall stone gates between them and the rest of Camelot. It eerily quiet and she knew that the guards who were supposed to be on duty this cold night had likely sneaked a pint or two from the banquet tables earlier.

While exposing the castle horribly in case of attack, it did afford them the privacy to talk freely without fear of being overheard.

She refused to be the first one to break the uncomfortable silence. Henry was the one to want to talk after all…She hurriedly buried the part of her that wanted to smirk at him and make a joke, the part that wanted to tease him like she would have when they first became friends. They were not friends anymore; she needed to remember that.

“What are you going to do?” Henry finally asked his face unemotional and flat. Though it was easy for Morgana to see the fear and sadness in the depths of his green eyes. Again the increasingly familiar refrain echoed in her head; _how had it come to this?_

“I don’t know what you mean” her response was automatic and defensive. They both knew it was a lie.

Henry scoffed his eyes hardening, “Why did you come back? We both know that you are no friend of Camelot’s. I don’t care if everyone else believes the relieved, faithful daughter act…..I know better”

A faint smirk pulled at her lips, “no I don’t suppose you do….but then what can you really do about it?” There was nothing he could do and they both knew it. Even if he went screaming through the village square about her being a witch and her partnership with Morgause—no one would believe him. It would likely only end up in his burning at the stake.

“I know” he said simply. She admired how he could sound so calm in the face of someone who could destroy his life with a sentence—she wasn’t sure she could do the same. “Are you going to tell Uther then?”

She quirked her eyebrow—not verbally denying or affirming his fear. She knew that she was being cruel; but a small part (the sadistic wronged part) was enjoying stringing him along. She felt a stab of fear…. just how much had Morgause wormed into her psyche?

“God dammit Morgana! Just answer the question! Are you going to tell Uther about what Merlin did? Are you going to tell him about what I am? It’s not like I can do anything to stop you—at least do me the service of letting me know how much time I have left”

She felt a wash of shame at his last words. Yes she was angry at him, yes she knew she was going to further betray Camelot but that did not erase everything they had once had. She had been in his shoes before and instead of toying with her fear and uncertainty he had gone out of his way to reassure and teach her about magic. His help had helped her embrace her gift rather than fear it. Still she had a job to do….

“Maybe you could” she replied an adjustment to the plan forming in her mind.

Henry looked at her startled, his confusion at her statement clear on his face. “Excuse me?”

She sighed but explained further, “Maybe there is something you could do to persuade me from going to Uther with what your brother threatened to do to me” she didn’t bother with his last part—she would never betray another magical to Uther; no matter what they had done to her. Henry should have known that.

It was the fact that he _didn’t_ that spurred her on to carrying out Morgause’s plan. Her sister knew her—at least Morgana liked to pretend that she did. “What are you willing to do…what are you willing to sacrifice to ensure your brother’s safety?”

It was cruel of her. Still she was at least a little bit curious to his answer…after all Merlin had been unbelievably cold and dismissive of his bond with Henry. Would Henry be willing to even fight for his brother’s life in light of that?

She watched his face pale and his adams apple move as he swallowed dryly, he looked like he was going to be sick.

Maybe she had gone too far? Maybe she should….

Her thoughts were cut off by Henry’s croaky answer, “anything”

At first she thought she misheard. Surely her friend would not willingly place himself in such a vulnerable position for someone who had barely acknowledged him as family? No one was _that_ self sacrificing…..

Yet apparently Henry was. Her gaze met terrified but determined eyes—he was not being naïve, he knew exactly what she could ask of him yet he was willing to risk it anyway. All for Merlin’s safety.

For a second time that night she felt unbelievably ashamed at herself. And admittedly impressed and a bit jealous—such loyalty to family that had done little for him, when her own family (well Arthur at least) had done so much for her yet was on the receiving end of her anger and vitriol. She knew in that moment that she was not half the person Henry was. And for the first time in a long time….she wish she were.

She wished she was the one receiving that kind of loyalty—and she wished that she deserved to receive it.

And for the first time since she had fallen under Morgause’s influence she realized that even under her sister’s influence she had been living a lie. Yes she had been unhappy under Uther’s rule (she still was in fact) but that unhappiness had not left when she did. Living with Morgause and her plots and schemes had done little to alleviate the isolation and loneliness she had felt all of her life (or at least until she met Henry). She had been deluding herself into thinking that life under her sister’s rule would be better than life under her stepfather’s rule was.

The sound of metal hitting stone broke her from her revelations. She and Henry’s eyes shot down to where the now blackened bracelet lay desolately on the courtyard ground. She realized that it was the bracelet that Morgause had gifted her all that time ago….

She stooped down to tentatively reach for the adornment—realizing that for the first time in a long time she felt lighter. Like some huge weight of anger and distrust had been removed from her shoulders. She stopped her hand from clasping the bracelet as sudden suspicion flooded her.

Just what was the bracelet’s true purpose? Because she suddenly found that she didn’t believe it was a simple nightmare soother as she had been led to believe.

“Morgana?” Henry’s voice asked. His tone was curious but even more wary.

Thoughts free of outside influence she made a promise to herself right there and then. She would fix things with her friend; she wouldn’t allow hate and anger to cloud her judgment any longer.

She swore that she would make things right between them.

\--oo—

Morgause shot up in bed with a strangled gasp. Something was wrong…..seriously wrong.

It felt as though something inside of her had snapped. Over the past week, (ever since Morgana’s departure to be honest) Morgause had felt as though something in her chest was straining- bowing under the pressure of too much weight and stress.

She had dismissed it….she had far more important things to worry about after all (like keeping the conniving little ass living with her in line and stringing Cendred along enough to guarantee her the needed power base to take down Camelot)…but now there was no denying it.

Her carefully crafted plans had just hit a major roadblock. And all because Morgana was too undependable.

She had hoped that being family she could rely on the girl. She had counted on it in fact. She thought that it would be easy to manipulate her half sister—and for a time, it had been. The bracelet had been the perfect reassurance….after all; it took a very strong will to break the inherent purpose of the artifact. She had been so sure that Morgana did not have that will….especially when coupled with Morgause’s subtle influence.

The stark emptiness of a broken bond spoke otherwise. It could only be caused by one thing, and one thing alone: Morgana had just removed the bracelet…..

She had just lost one of the key players needed to infiltrate and conquer Camelot. And it made her want to scream.

This just wouldn’t do.

-0--

Sweat trickled past his brow and into his eyes but Harry ignored the stinging blur to his vision as he dodged yet another vicious swing at his life. His muscles burned and ached in a way that they hadn’t in a very long time. He didn’t know how long they had been fighting….

It had come out of nowhere—a completely unexpected and seemingly unstoppable attack. His magic had barely flared with enough time for him to exit his room much less warn anyone about the impending danger. He had thought that the last attack on Camelot would have highlighted her defense shortfalls, and it had. Sadly it would seem that they were once again paying for Uther’s arrogance…because despite knowing the weak points in Camelot’s defense and army, he had done little, if anything, to fix it.

And now Camelot’s last standing defense; her knights and citizens, were an inch away from being slaughtered like the sheep many of them were.

Harry felt a vindictive sense of pleasure as he watched his opponent trip over a raised stone that hadn’t been there a moment before and spear himself on his own sword. Magic was truly handy sometimes. Though he knew he had to be careful—it wouldn’t do to survive this attack only to be burnt at the stake later…..And with how much subtle wandless magic he was being forced to use to survive and keep those around him alive, he doubted he would have the energy to apparate away to safety should it come to that.

“Henry—Duck!”

Henry chose to put faith in his one time friend and did as instructed—just narrowly avoiding having his head separated from his shoulders by a gorilla of a man. He could only thank all that was good that Morgana seemed to have finally chosen a side.

That it was Camelot’s, and therefore Arthur’s and his, was an added bonus.

Dispatching of his assailant with a quick jab to his carotid Henry spun around, sucking in gasping breaths of air as he did (he may have been in fighting shape, but even he had his limits—apparently several hours of dodging and killing was nearing them), trying to take stock of where everyone was while praying that they were holding up under this constant on slat.

He felt his stomach clench with nerves as took it in. Morgana was faltering, though the training her and Henry had done ages ago was clearly showing to her benefit. The hand to hand at least—she seemed to have adopted the same approach as Henry, using her magic only subtly to aid her physical maneuvers. A few paces from her his brother was quickly wilting under the heavy assault of Morgause’s magical attacks. He too was inhibited by the lack of magic he could use….much more then Morgana, as Merlin had zero physical skills to fall back on.

Henry sent a subtle tripping curse at Morgause, hoping to catch her off guard and give Merlin a momentary reprieve, while he figured out some other way that he could help his brother. He needed to draw her attention away from his awkward sibling, even if it was to his own person—at least he had a fighting chance at surviving while being forced to rely mainly on his muggle training. Without his magic, Merlin had nothing.

He lunged at the witch, his small scabbier swinging near enough to cause her to take a startled leap back. It caused her to do just what he had hoped, forcing her attention to skitter away from Merlin and narrow in on him. The malice in her eyes made him swallow.

He didn’t wait for her attack—instead taking the initiative and slicing downwards. She easily evaded him, a mocking smile playing on her lips.

“Come now child is that all you have? Some pathetic piece of metal?”

He feinted to the left before quickly switching sides—Morgause just narrowly avoided the sharp tip this time. Some of the confidence left her face yet she did a fair job of hiding her unease. “We both know that this isn’t your weapon of choice Emrys…. What’s the matter to scared to use your real power?”

He tuned her out with little effort—after all, during his previous duels with Voldemort it had been one of his favorite strategies….hell even Malfoy largely relied on taunting to distract and anger. Of course it had worked both ways in those cases….what was to say that wasn’t true in this case as well?

“I am saving that for someone who’s an actual threat” he stated mildly, proud that his own fatigue and irritation at the situation didn’t show.

The witch it turned out, was a sad comparison to his past enemies—the one sentence drawing a snarl of anger from her. She was far to invested in gaining the upper hand and foolishly allowed her emotions to override her pragmatic side. The result was a brash, impulsive fighter rather than a strategic one.

Harry narrowly dodged the ball of orange thrown at him—glad to have done so when the floor where it hit melted and crumbled. The magic the witch was wielding might be different from his own but he could see that with the right motivation it could be equally as damaging. He really didn’t want to test his last minute luck by allowing her a direct hit…

Sadly it seemed to undermine Harry’s strategy as well. Having released such a potent ball of magic appeared to calm the blond down from her previous rage—or at least given her the time to regain a handle on her emotions. Her eyes still shone with the need to annihilate but it was no longer pure reckless rage. “You chose the wrong side boy. I will win today….with or without you and your pathetic brother’s aid”

“…without your sister’s as well?” Harry taunted once again leaping to the side to avoid getting hit—this time with a piece of flying stone (likely one that had been dislodged in the previous missed attack).

“She will pay for her treachery…and in the end it matters little. Her power is weak at best…unlike yours little sorcerer. Tell me do you know what’s wrong with you yet?”

Harry felt his foot falter and trip slightly— _what did she know?_

“What are you talking about?” he demanded once again throwing himself forward, this time his blade making contact. The wound on her arm was shallow true—but it was still there.

Her laughter cut off in a hiss at the cut before she quickly threw her hands at him—the power causing him to be thrown back several feet, but not quite enough to knock him off his feet. Harry briefly wondered where the hell Merlin had gotten to, but a quick glance to the side showed that he had been weigh laid by another anonymous soldier. And where the hell did they even keep coming from?!?! The numbers seemed overwhelming….

“Oh come now little boy….don’t play naïve, you know what I am talking about. Or can’t you _remember_?”

Harry’s drew in a sharp breath. She knew. He didn’t know how but somehow she knew something that even he had only just barely been made aware of…..

She knew about his black outs. The gaps in his memory…..just what did she know about them though? Did she know the cause? Was she the cause?

He wanted to grab her and apparate somewhere he could interrogate the answers out of her….he wanted—no _needed_ , to discover the truth behind his mysterious lapses….

But before he could even so much as ask her to expound a startled garble fell from her lips. Along with something that looked suspiciously like blood.

As her body crumpled forward Harry’s eyes fell upon a half horrified/half triumphant looking Merlin, clutching weakly to the end of a heavy looking broadsword. “I—I didn’t mean….I…” the pale looking man stuttered unable to move his eyes from the gasping woman at his feet.

Harry didn’t answer him, only just throwing a nonverbal stasis spell (he was not going to let her die before he had his answers!) at the woman before his attention was forcefully drawn to a still ongoing skirmish just behind his brother.

At first he didn’t know what had caught his attention so suddenly. Arthur stood—sword clashing against someone who Harry had thought he heard called Cendred. Both were fairly evenly paired, though as the fight went on it was clear that Arthur was winning.

No, despite his and Arthur’s tentative bond, (because while Arthur was unaware of it—the moment that Harry had forgiven him and started sleeping with him once more, his magic had decreed that Arthur was his) that shouldn’t have been enough to cause his magic to demand his attention like it just had…..especially when it was clear that Arthur was going to win….

No for his magic to act like that there had to be an imminent danger.

And then he saw him. He saw the traitorous man, his hand and sword already starting their descent to Arthur’s unprotected neck.

Harry wouldn’t be able to get there in time to push the prince out of the way. He couldn’t get to Mordred to push him aside or even trip him with his magic.

He didn’t have a second to consider the consequences of his actions—he just knew that he had to act, and act now or Arthur’s life would be forfeit.

He didn’t hesitate, didn’t pause to consider all of his options—just acting on instinct. Instinct, which had him raising his own hand and throwing what little was left of his magic towards the prince.

And like the faithful friend it was it left him in a bright, unmistakable jet of energy, ripping Arthur’s form away from his hidden attacker and sending him flying towards Harry while sending both Mordred and Cendred slamming back into the hard stone wall.

The impact of Arthur’s body sent both of them careening towards the ground, effectively knocking the breath out of Harry.

It took a few minutes before he was able to see past the stars blurring his vision and when he did, he almost wished he hadn’t.

Arthur’s wide blue eyes stared back at him in horrified shock and betrayal.

“Was that magic?!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note:
> 
> Chapter title: from the rhyme titled: The grand old Duke of York 
> 
>  
> 
> The Grand old Duke of York he had ten thousand men He marched them up to the top of the hill And he marched them down again. When they were up, they were up And when they were down, they were down And when they were only halfway up They were neither up nor down.
> 
>  
> 
> The origin to the words of "The grand old Duke of York" are believed to date back to the Plantagenet dynasty in
> 
> the 15th century and refer mockingly to the defeat of Richard, "The grand old Duke of York" in the Wars of the Roses (1455). This war was between the house of York (whose symbol was a white rose) and the house of Lancaster (whose symbol was a red rose). The Wars of the Roses lasted for over thirty years and were equivalent to a Civil War. The words of the Nursery rhyme are believed to refer to Richard, Duke of York, claimant to the English throne and Protector of England and the Battle of Wakefield on December 30, 1460. The Duke of York and his army marched to his castle at Sandal where Richard took up a defensive position against the Lancastrian army. Sandal Castle was built on top of the site of an old Norman motte and bailey fortress. Its massive earthworks stood 33 feet (10m) above the original ground level ("he marched them up to the top of the hill"). In a moment of madness he left his stronghold in the castle and went down to make a direct attack on the Lancastrians " he marched them down again". His army was overwhelmed and Richard the Duke of York was killed. (taken from: http://www.haunted-yorkshire.co.uk/grimnurseryrhymes.htm)


	21. Strange case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! So sorry for how long this chapter took to get out to you, I found it a very hard one to write-but hopefully it won't be to read ;) This is the last chapter before the epilogue-the latter which I will use to tie up some loose threads and clarify things. I am not entirely satisfied with this but hope you still enjoy it. Either way drop me a thread adn let me know what you think! 
> 
> Happy Reading

 

* * *

 

_“Man is not truly one, but two” ―_ [ _Robert Louis Stevenson_ ](https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/854076.Robert_Louis_Stevenson)

 

* * *

 

Silence hung with a weight that it previously had not possessed.

Harry did not know how to answer Arthur’s furious question. He knew that he should be spewing out excuses and denials—what the desperate hope in Arthur’s eyes were pleading for—but he couldn’t make his vocal cords work. His lips felt as though they were suddenly melded into one silent entity.

He knew that Arthur had seen what he had done and he knew that Arthur knew that he knew….(and okay, now he was just starting to confuse himself). Point was; that even if he were able to convincingly lie to the Crown Prince’s face, things would never be the same again. Because maybe…just maybe Arthur would latch onto that excuse and pretend to believe him but that is all it would be: p _retend_.

And the longer that the unanswered question dragged on, the less willing those hardening blue eyes would be to make that sacrifice. It was too late….some things could just not be undone. Harry knew this, god he knew this and yet he wanted it to be different this time, he wanted….

“What do you want to hear Arthur?” was what finally left his throat. The words already tasted of defeat and resignation. He may want, but it was still easier to ignore the small flicker of hope (hope that Arthur would accept him for being different, that he would understand that just because Harry possessed _magic_ that Harry was still Harry) then allow it to truly latch on. And looking up into the face of the man he had slowly but undeniably fallen for, he knew that he was correct in his fear.

There was hurt and confusion in those eyes but it was muted by the anger, and worse, revulsion found there.

“I want the truth Emrys. I would think that it is the very least I am owed” Arthur’s voice was hard and unwavering. The use of his last name was telling….the man was already distancing himself.

Harry swallowed the hurt that he felt—after all, when had he ever been given the benefit of the doubt? When had the people who were suppose to care and love him ever been there when he truly needed them? And most importantly, why had he thought that Arthur would be any different? Once again he was found the fool….always the fool—“I think you already know your truth”

It wouldn’t matter what he said, they both knew that, so why bother? He suddenly felt so very tired….

“Answer the question”

Sighing and pushing lightly on the prince’s shoulder (a touch that Arthur practically stumbled back from—another stab of pain wormed its way through Harry’s chest) to allow him to sit up from his prone position he gave as requested “Yes. There, happy? Yes it was magic. Yes I used magic to save your life. Does hearing it out loud make it any more ok with you _your highness_?” Harry didn’t fight the sneer or bitterness coating his words. Why should he?

Harry watched with the detached black humor as Arthur stepped back without answering. It didn’t matter; his actions spoke more than any words could have. The sting of metal and wrenching of his arms behind his back by overly hostile knights barely registered as Harry couldn’t drag his eyes away from the increasingly ashen face of the man he loved.

The flicker of uncertain regret and guilt did nothing to ease the overwhelming taste of bitter betrayal.

It didn’t matter: Harry had grown well use to its flavor by now.

\--oo—

He knew that under most circumstances that he would have felt betrayed. He was half trying to convince himself that he should use this new proof to justify his past actions against Henry. He _wanted_ to…really he did, at least that way he would be able to brush aside his own guilty conscience.

It should have been easy—after all he had been doing something similar since he had met the messy haired youth. Yet he didn’t.

Not _couldn’t_ ,—the distinction was important— _didn’t_.

His brother had after all, had done what he was suppose to have; saved Arthur’s life. Merlin was not so bullheaded not to recognize that (or, for that matter, how Henry had stepped in to save him. He knew that he had been losing the battle against Morgause until Henry’s distraction).

And mostly….he was just _tired_ of trying to hate his brother. As lame as that sounded, it was true. It was just so hard to try and hate someone who did not bow and break in the face of misplaced animosity. Anyone else, _anyone_ would have given in and returned Merlin’s vitriol in spades by now—or at least given up—yet Henry had doggedly ignored his anger and continued on.

He had no other choice but to acknowledge that his brother was truly a good person. No matter how the bitter little boy in Merlin wished it otherwise.

So, for once, he wouldn’t let that bitter boy win. For once he would step up and do right by his kin. Kin in more than blood apparently. And wasn’t that shocking?

Henry was magic; powerful magic if what he had witnessed in the fight was true. He hadn’t seen much, but he somehow knew that Henry’s magic was not the same tainted magic that Morgause wielded. Black magic or magic users did not save people who could order their deaths after all. Merlin should know.

He shivered at the cold draft that seemed to leak in and encompass the dimly lit cells. The whole place had to have been designed not only to contain but to terrify its occupants. And judging by the involuntary hunch that had settled into his shoulders as he passed the sullen guards and flickering torch lights, it was scarily effective.

It had been 48 hours since he had watched his brother get dragged away by the king’s guard: somehow it seemed like so much longer.

He couldn’t help but wonder that if the guard had not also witnessed Henry’s magical save, would Arthur have decided to react differently? He told himself that the prince would have, that he would have at least allowed for an explanation or reasonable doubt before throwing Henry to the proverbial wolves. It troubled him more then he wanted to admit that he didn’t know the answer to that question.

Another voice in the back of his head wondered how Arthur would have reacted had it been Merlin in Henry’s shoes. He didn’t think he wanted to know the answer to that one.

“Five minutes” Sir Percival told him not quite meeting his eyes.

Merlin’s stomach churned uneasily once more. It hurt to see the clenched jaw and wary stance of men he had grown to think of as friends. Sure that wariness and suspicion was not really directed at him, rather his brother; but it might as well have been. Still at least the knight was allowing him face time with Henry—even if it was rather reluctant.

It was far more then Merlin had hoped for….hell the fact that there was still no set date for a burning was more then he could have hoped for. He didn’t know what was delaying Uther’s need for vengeance against yet another innocent, but he couldn’t help but be thankful all the same.

Merlin clenched his fingers reflexively as he finally came to a stop before the cell that Henry was being kept in. The shadowed darkness almost hid his brother’s small frame entirely from view masking the defeated looking figure from the judging eyes outside. Merlin wanted to reach out to offer comfort but he wasn’t sure it would be welcome.

“Henry?” the question came out timid—as though approaching a startled mare.

There was no answer for a long moment. Merlin was about to open his mouth before his eyes caught the hunched figure moving slightly: the moves were stiff, as though they were painful. The ramifications made Merlin’s nails bite into the palm of his hands.

“Merlin?”

Henry’s voice sounded harsh and dry. It was clear that Camelot did not believe in allowing witches the luxury of water or food.

Merlin found he couldn’t make his vocal cords work, so he just nodded his head. He had to try and fix this….he had saved people/magic wielders from these dungeons before…he could do it again. He _would_ do it again. He purposefully ignored the fact that he had nearly gotten caught each and every time.

He owed Henry….he might never truly make up for his horrible behavior from before but he would not lose another family member to Uther. He couldn’t.

“W-Why are you here?”

Merlin felt the sting of accusation even if that wasn’t how Henry meant it. He deserved it.

“I-I wanted to see how you were doing” he finally managed. Immediately regretting the statement—how stupid could he be? Of course Henry wasn’t doing well…..how could he be?

Apparently Merlin wasn’t the only one who found the question ridiculous if the half upward twist of Henry’s mouth was anything to go by. Then again Merlin thought he would ask a million stupid things if it helped bring even a small smile to the ashen colored face in front of him.

Despite it having only been 48 hours, Henry was not looking so hot. There were deep dark circles that spoke of sleep deprivation and made his already too thin face look positively gaunt. Of course the nasty looking bruising to the side of his face didn’t help any.

“Did they….are they…” Merlin trailed off not quite sure how to ask, unable to drag his eyes away from the mottled skin. Thankfully it seemed that Henry knew what he was trying to ask and answered anyway.

“No. They didn’t….honestly, they ignore me for the most part” Henry stated with a stilted shrug. At Merlin’s skeptical look he continued, “It’s from the battle….really. Morgause got a few more hits in then I thought…”

Appeased by the knowledge that at least the men Merlin saw as friends weren’t further abusing his brother (at least outside of what he assumed Uther had ordered them to do) he decided to let it go.

Silence seemed to fall between them and it wasn’t until Merlin heard the clank of metal on stone (Percival—his mind supplied) did he get around to why he had truly come down to see Henry.

“I….I’m sorry” Merlin said forcing his gaze to meet Henry’s viridian eyes without flinching away.

“For?” Henry asked sounding a bit confused.

“For everything....” Merlin answered without hesitation, “For how I treated you—it wasn’t fair of me. It wasn’t anything you had done as I am sure you know….but still, I had no right to treat you like dirt so I am sorry”

Henry opened his mouth but once again Merlin cut him off.

“Please” he made a gesture with his hand, “let me finish or I won’t be able to.” Henry gave a slow nod though his eyes were unreadable. “I’m sorry that I lied to you but mainly I’m sorry I made it so you felt like you couldn’t share this part of yourself with me”

This time Henry did cut him off, “stop” “no, Merlin, stop. Thank you for apologizing but you don’t need to”

This time it was Merlin’s protest that was cut off, “no…I mean, yes I accept your apology for being a dick and yes I think you were in the wrong there but you don’t need to apologize for the last bit. I…er well I don’t know whether or not I would have told you even if we’d had a different relationship”

Merlin wanted to tell Henry about his own magic….but the risk of doing so down here…surrounded by enemies….

Once again his brother surprised him, it would seem that Henry saw the hesitation in his eyes and somehow just knew what he was trying to say. It was a bit spooky in truth.

“Hey, it’s okay. I know Merlin”

“You know?” he voiced unable to keep the doubt out of his tone.

“I _know_ ” he stated decisively. And somehow Merlin knew that he was telling the truth. Somehow, someway Henry knew about Merlin’s magic…..and that he too had been keeping secrets.

Merlin knew it wasn’t logical but somehow knowing that Henry knew (and wasn’t that a mind twister) took a weight off of him.

He couldn’t have stopped the next words if he had wanted to; and frankly, he didn’t want to.

“I will get you out of this. I promise you I will”

“I know”

**-o-**

**“** Are you really just going to stand to the side and watch him burn?”

“Get out”

He watched his manservant clench his jaw—that familiar defiant look flashing in his eyes and he just couldn’t take it any longer.

“I said get out! Get out now Merlin or I will not be responsible for my next actions”

He barely managed to get the words out—anger, rage, confusion, hurt--too many emotions to properly list and decipher—coursing through his veins like molten lava. Merlin must have caught the truth in his uttered threat or maybe he just recognized that their combined tempers wouldn’t help resolve anything, because for once, he did the smart thing and listened. Not before throwing another angry glare at his lord and letting the door slam forcefully.

Arthur didn’t try to hold back the roar of rage as he sent the still warm dinner tray flying off the table with a violent swipe of his arm. As quickly as the rage had come it fled leaving him to sink down exhaustedly to the floor.

He didn’t care if he didn’t look the part of a prince at the moment….he just couldn’t keep up the façade right now.

He didn’t know what to think, what to feel, or more importantly, what he was supposed to do.

When he had first seen Henry use magic he had been sure that it was a mistake…that somehow, someway, he had been hallucinating. When he could no longer deny what he had seen he had been hurt, angry and betrayed.

That had shifted into numb disbelief before settling back into vengeful rage. Now though, _now_ he was just tired (and though he tried to deny it—guilty. Had he really just stood back and watched his father’s men drag the man he professed to love and swore to protect, into the castle’s dungeons?).

He had spent hours trying to convince himself that he was in the right, that he didn’t really know Henry at all: That the whole thing had been one big evil plot on the sorcerer’s part that their love had never truly existed. He had tried so hard.

He had failed.

Yes he was hurt and confused as to why Henry had hid such a thing (but no, he was not even allowed that small comfort-- not really. After all, how could he expect Henry to tell him the truth when he had stood by his father’s side time and again, even going so far as to carry out his father’s horrendous orders against magic users?) and maybe he had let his anger and hurt in the moment make him passive in the face of his lover’s desperation.

But hadn’t he sworn not to let Henry down again? Could he really stand back and do just that in the face of his lover’s most desperate hour?

The answer was simple; no. He could not.

Even if Merlin had not come and shouted/pleaded with him to do something, Arthur knew wouldn’t have stood aside.

Not this time. Because the truth of the matter was, no matter what his lover may or may not have done, no matter what he may or may not be: Arthur loved him.

And nothing, not even magic, could change that.

\--00—

Mordred flinched at the sound of breaking pottery. He would be rather shocked if anything inside the rundown shack survived Morgause’s temper tantrum at this rate. One thing was for sure, he knew better then to face her at the moment….then again he was starting to rethink the whole ‘facing her’ thing at all. After all so far her side wasn’t exactly batting for the win.

No….after this latest failure (especially since he now knew that Morgana had done exactly as he had feared and gone running back to the little magician’s side) Mordred was thinking that tucking tale was sounding better and better.

Not that he was just going to up and abandon the cause completely of course….he simply was considering switching—no that wasn’t quite right either….not switching then— _creating_ a new side in this stalled fight. He had made a promise after all….

And if there was one person (even if the current mind was unaware of it) that he could put his horses behind, well….it certainly wasn’t Morgause any longer. He had originally followed the witch not because she owned a fair amount of power (sure not crazy amounts, but enough) but because she had a strategically cunning mind to put that power to use. Now though…

Well now, she like many with ambition before her had fallen into the revenge/vengeance trap. Sure a bit of revenge driven anger was all well and good…but it could quickly grow to overshadow any sort of rationality if not careful. And well, Morgause had not been careful enough.

So yes….Mordred came to the quick decision as he disappeared, unheard and unnoticed, back into the forest, that now was a good time to not only create a new side but to carry out his promise. He had an ally to awaken.

First, of course; he had a burning to stop. Why must winning be so complicated?

-0-

“Hurry up girl—I needed that bucket a day ago!” Clarisse snapped out.

Gwen swallowed down the part of her that wanted to talk back and grudgingly grabbed the water bucket. What with Morgana’s disappearance (even if she was back now), the numerous fights and squabbles that had been breaking out in Camelot as of late, and finally the most recent attack; her previous rather cushy position as a lady in waiting had been replaced with that of a scullery maid.

To say that she hadn’t been enjoying the demotion would be putting it lightly.

Still it could have been worse she suppose—she could have been rotting away in a cold cellar like her one time friend Henry. She still couldn’t believe that he had fooled them all! (Though now that she thought about it….it definitely explained a lot).

Like how Arthur could have so easily forsaken her affection for the likes of some scrawny nobody. Really, now that she knew that Henry had magic (and had not been wrongly accused like her poor father had been—far too many witnesses had seen him use it. And yes, maybe she was ignoring the small fact that he had used said magic to save Arthur’s life….but still. Magic was magic, it could not be trusted) she felt much less guilty for her less benevolent thoughts towards the boy.

Maybe now Arthur would see the light; although she did hope that Henry’s horrible betrayal did not sour him completely on cross-class relationships.

She didn’t even have the time to shriek before she was roughly dragged; hand over mouth, into a dark side alley. Oh GOD! She was going to die….she was so close to actually getting what she wanted (ok…so not t _hat_ close, but still) and now she was going to…to…fall victim to a heinous crime. She couldn’t quite allow her mind to voice just what happened to women unfortunate to get in such positions; it was just too horrible.

“If I remove my hand are you going to scream?” the soft, very male voice asked…the tickle of hot breath puffing off her ear. She hastily shook her head to the negative praying to anyone listening that he believed her.

“I do not plan to hurt you, however should you do something stupid….” He trailed off ominously.

Gwen’s panicked thoughts were stuck firmly on “Please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me…” but she did manage to understand what he was warning.

She felt the cold press of steel on her rib cage replace the hand that had been placed over her mouth. She only barely managed to stop the desperate scream that wanted to worm its way out of her throat. No doubt her attacker would make good on his threat should she fall prey to her instincts.

“Good.....Now dear Guinevere”---God he knew her name!—“I believe we really want very similar things…I propose that we help each other out… what do you say?” the soft voice was equally cajoling as it was mocking, yet despite her current situation Gwen couldn’t help feel her curiosity perk up.

“W-What do you mean? How do you know my name? who are you?” she stuttered—hating how her voice betrayed just how terrified she was at the moment.

“tch..tch..” the man tutted, “I think I’ll be the one asking the questions if you don’t mind. Though I suppose a little token would not harm anyone….. I know who you are dear because I having been _watchin_ g”

Gwen felt a shiver of dread roll up her spine—her captor chuckled mirthlessly at her body’s reactive tensing.

“Oh no dear. Not you….you are hardly important in the scheme of things….though you _could_ be with a bit of help. No, I’m talking about your dear prince and his lovely little friend”

“Tell me Gwen….did it make you angry to know that Arthur would rather bed some pathetic little boy then invite you into it?” the taunt made Gwen’s jaw clench, her old jealousy, insecurity and rage over Arthur and Henry’s filthy/immoral activities rising up once again.

“I don’t know what you are talking about” she spat, her anger making her forget her previous fear.

“No? so you wouldn’t be interested in getting Arthur’s attention back where it belongs then?” the man mockingly asked….his stance behind her never faltering, the blade still firmly pressed against her skin.

“I don’t….he’s already going to burn for his devil’s work anyway” she fumbled her denials.

“Really? a sorcerer powerful enough to enchant the prince to love him….a sorcerer powerful enough to defeat Morgause is going to allow himself to be burnt at the stake? Do you really believe it will be that simple? That your prince will be freed from his grasps that easily?”

Gwen didn’t want to listen to the man’s words (he did after all, basically kidnap her and was holding her at knife point. No honest, trustworthy type would do that…) but she couldn’t help it. They crept in and infected her mind like a vile poison…..he was right….there was no way that someone as evil and powerful as Henry would be defeated that easily.

And a love potion! Of course! Why hadn’t she thought of that?! It was so _obvious_ ….all this time Arthur’s trapped free will had likely been screaming at her for help and she hadn’t done anything…..

“I….what can I—we do?” she asked shakily finally realizing the severity of what he was implying.

“Don’t worry, I can help you” –a small voice in the back of her mind was asking just why this man wanted to help…what was in it for him? yet she was far too desperate to stop Henry’s vile influence on Arthur to pay it much mind, “all you need to do is make sure that a few drops of this ends up in the prisoner’s water bucket” Gwen felt the vial as it was slipped into her pocket.

“That’s it? what will that do?” she questioned even as her hand was protectively patting her pocket.

“It will simply break any of his current enchantments….and stop any further magic. Simple but effective” the man explained reassuringly.

“You still didn’t tell me who you are….or why you need me do to this at all” she allowed a few suspicions out.

“Who I am is not important. And simple my dear—you have the easiest access…you are working in the kitchens these days are you not?”

“Yes…bu—“ she began to protest again but was cut off this time.

“Do you or do you not want Arthur back?” the man demanded impatiently.

“Yes…bu…”

“Then do as I instructed. You are Arthur’s last hope…..”

And with that the man was gone: all evidence-- except for the conspicuous weight in her pocket-- of their brief interaction gone with him.

Could she do this? Did she have a choice?

No, she did not. Not if she wanted the old sweet doting Arthur back again. Decision made she turned and hurried onwards to the water well.

-0-

Harry tried, and failed to stifle the shiver that wracked his freezing frame. Having grown up under the tender mercies of the Dursley’s, Harry had always thought himself immune to such discomforts, unfortunately that long built up resistance to things such as hunger, sleep deprivation and cold, sadly did not seem expand to 5th Century hospitality. The cold that was the Camelot dungeon seemed to seep and settle into one’s bones without any sign of relinquishing it’s vice grip.

That and he had gotten used to having a few square meals a day as of late. He almost wished he hadn’t allowed himself the comfort of settling down in Camelot—at least had he been living and surviving on his own he would have been more used to the knawing emptiness in his gut.

One would ask why he just didn’t use his magical voodoo to apparate himself out of his cell and too safety…..the problem was that he couldn’t. And no, it was not because of some noble self sacrificing idealism or anything as ridiculous as that….no, it was far more vexing then that (at least to Harry it was). It would seem that for the first time since he had arrived in Camelot, his magic was not responding as it should.

He had spent several incredibly frustrating hours (when he was first tossed in) trying and failing to use his magic to escape: only to find that he couldn’t. And while he knew that Uther (the hypocrite that he was) had employed a sorcerer to ward the dungeon against magic (most likely way before he had taken to burning said magicals with great aplomb—at least he hoped so. Though knowing Uther as he did he would not be surprised to discover that whoever had warded the cells against magic had later been tossed in them), he really hadn’t thought that they would be strong enough to stop him.

And yes, perhaps that was a little arrogant of him.

Though in truth, he still felt that if he had not been so drained from fighting Morgause earlier and healing as many of Camelot’s injured as he could during the fight (something he was starting to regret considering many of those he had helped heal were now employing their new found health to keep him caged) he would not have had issue getting around the magical dampening.

It would seem that the bad part of his luck complex was in full swing.

It wasn’t helping that he was having trouble not giving into the steadily increasing black spots swarming his vision either. He felt another shiver (this time not from the cold) roll down his spine. He had long known that his black outs and lost memories could be nothing good….but he was starting to suspect that him willfully ignoring them was going to come around and bite him in the ass; and rather soon, if the amount of trouble he had staying aware and awake was anything to go by.

He violently shook his head trying to disperse the fogginess of his thoughts before shuffling his way over to were a metal pail sat innocently in the corner. For the first however many hours or days (he wasn’t sure how long he had been down here—with no window or light to give away such information) he had been here, his captors had not given him the luxury of food or water. It was only just recently that a terrified looking scullery maid had scuttled as near as she dared to the cell and left a bucket of musty smelling water for him to drink.

While initially suspicious (he couldn’t help but think that it felt an awful lot like a last meal type deal) he couldn’t bring himself to ignore it any longer: Not with the burning thirst in the back of his throat. That and he figured that Uther would always go for the more showy execution of burning over a quiet, secluded death by poison.

Dipping his dirty and bruised hands into the bucket he barely held back a groan of appreciation. No matter how dire his current circumstances were (and no, despite Merlin’s promise and good intentions—he somehow did not have much faith in his brother succeeding in his rescue) the promise of water was enough to make him thankful.

Splashing some of the cool liquid on his face helped focus his wandering thoughts and he didn’t hesitate to bring the next hand scoop to his mouth:

Maybe he should have.

The itch in the back of his mind became a head pounding vice. He knew without having to give it much thought that he did not have the energy to try fighting this time.

Even if he did; what the hell did he have left that was worth even trying to?  

\--o—

Arthur paused, trepidation filling him as his hand hovered uncertainly at the door of the dungeons—the last barrier between prisoner and free. It wasn’t that he was second guessing his choice to help Henry escape….he wasn’t.

No….his current uncertainty wasn’t over his decision, but rather on the reception he would receive when he finally faced the object of said decision.

He had no idea how Henry would react to seeing him---it was rather unlikely that it would be favorable, not that he could blame his lover (ex?) if that were the case. No, Henry had every reason to hate and resent him….god knew that in his shoes, Arthur would have. But that didn’t stop Arthur’s heart from aching at the thought; stupid he knew (after all not all that long ago he had watched as the same man was dragged away from him—knowing that they were taking him with the final goal of death in mind. He had watched and done nothing…guilt burned his gut with a rancid aftertaste).

Taking a deep breath he pushed his doubts aside(he did not deserve to dwell on them after all….he would face his lover and accept whatever Henry wanted to throw his way—it was the least he could do) and walked through the door.

Time was not unlimited, he knew that Merlin was distracting the dungeon guards with some sort of bumbling tale about possibly, maybe, perhaps having heard someone sneaking in through the south side entrance, but that only gave him 15 minutes at most to sneak Henry out (he had originally balked at this plan, concerned that Henry’s subsequent absence would be blamed on Merlin—but Merlin had insisted, and rightly pointed out that he could not be blamed if he was within the guards sights the entire time. Something that Arthur had reluctantly conceded).

He felt his breath whoosh out of him; partly due to the coldness of the air but a larger part due to the sight that met him. He rushed over to the damp prison bars—uncaring if the dirt and mold on them dirtied his princely garments—desperate to verify that the unmoving lump in the corner was not….

No. He wouldn’t think that. It was not possible….not unless Uther had forgone his normal need for public humiliation…..no…..he knew his father. He had to…he _couldn’t_ be wrong about this….

“Henry?” he called out—the uncertainty long ago replaced by fear.

His heart dropped when no answer came.

Not pausing long enough to think through his decision, Arthur hastily scrambled to unhook his master set of keys and moved to the lock. He fumbled slightly as he turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open, moving with a haste shown normally only in attacks on him and his knights over to where Henry’s body lay unmoving.

He crouched down his shaking hands carefully gripping the thin shoulders and shaking them slightly, “Henry….please. Henry, come on….we need to leave. You need to get out of here” the desperation in his tone drowned out his other scared thoughts. Thoughts that centered on the fact that Henry was not answering….nor moving.

He shook the body in front of him again, this time with more force.

He didn’t know what to do—he was just about to try flipping Henry onto his back so that he could drag him out, when with lightening fast reflexes that he hadn’t thought possible, a thin but almost inhumanly strong hand closed around his wrist.

Arthur let out a cry (okay…shriek) of surprise toppling backwards only to find himself pressed onto the cold floor forcefully. “Wha…” he began but found the question dying at the back of his throat as his eyes met the cold set of green ones looking down at him.

He knew right then and there that whoever…. _whatever_ this was; it was not Henry. Not the Henry he knew anyway.

 _It_ (because Arthur refused to refer to the being above him as his lover) saw the realization in Arthur’s eyes and let out a cold chuckle—mirth that did not reach It’s eyes. “Well…well…well….what have we here? Could it be… The Prince of Camelot? I must say it’s an honor to finally meet you your majesty. I have been waiting a _very_ long time”

Arthur forced a swallow past his dry throat, “W-who are you? Where….what have you done with Henry?” He was proud that his voice didn’t shake.

“Henry? hmmm apparently not as dim as you look are you. Though not sure why you care....a little late for that love. Besides Henry can’t come out to play right now, don’t worry though he will be able to hear you scream as I tear out your pathetic little heart….

…who knows maybe he will even enjoy it. I know I will.”

Arthur renewed his struggles in earnest; fear of the man’s words snaking into his gut. He didn’t hear a lie in those words.

He growled in useless rage as his struggles did nothing. Anger at whatever possessed his lover’s form filled him.

“I have always cared” he denied—knowing that it was trued despite however poorly he had shown it in the past.

He wanted to move away from the bitter laughter that his denial drew forth from those familiar yet unfamiliar lips.

“Don’t lie….it won’t save you” the imposter taunted—his mouth turned up in a mocking grin as though there was nothing in the world that concerned him. Yet, looking closer, Arthur could detect true anger underneath the veneer of ease. He swallowed knowing that the next words could be his last….yet he had made his decision when he came down here….it didn’t matter that this was not the Henry he had expected to find. He had decided….and perhaps a small part of him hoped that his Henry was not completely gone, had not been a lie from the start…..

“I’m not lying. I love him….” he winced but refused to stop even as the hands holding him down moved to his throat, “I love _you_ Henry….I’m sorry it took me so long to admit it. I’m sorry I have failed you again and again….but if anything is true, it is that. You and only you”

For a moment Arthur thought that he had succeeded, that his words had done the impossible, as the hands on him seemed to loosen. It was for the barest part of a second, but just as soon as the flicker of hesitance appeared, it disappeared; leaving icy emerald eyes in its wake.

“No. _No…_.you lie. You may have been able to trick my weaker half…Harry was always so desperate for love, but not me. I won’t allow it….no. But perhaps I should be thanking you? Yes…after all if it wasn’t for your betrayal—well to be fair you and everyone else I suppose—then Harry would have had a fighting chance against the potion. Tsk tsk….so sad, to bad”

Arthur’s mind tried to make sense of what was being said but the longer he allowed the imposter to speak the more obvious his loose grip on sanity became. It would have been fascinating, had it not been so terrifying to literally watch the mind crumble in on itself. Arthur had witnessed the sing-song tone that the imposter adopted at the end of his statement before; sadly it was in those that were dragged to the sanatorium.

It might have been this fact that allowed Arthur to grasp the blade strapped to the side of his leg and pull it out…something told him that he would never have gotten the drop on the imposter otherwise. All he needed to do now was slide the blade in: a quick sharp jab between his ribs and the threat to his life would end. It would be simple….should be simple….

_He couldn’t do it._

He couldn’t bring himself to hurt him….no matter how far removed Henry (wait hadn’t the imposter used the name Harry?....no matter, something for another time) was from this man holding him down right now; he was still in there. He had to be. Arthur refused to believe otherwise.

He brought his hand up and with a strength he did not know he possessed he wrapped his hand around the dirty loose collar of the imposter’s shirt. A tense second later they were separated; the imposter half slumped against the floor and Arthur scrambling backwards—blocking the cell door. He hastily hauled himself up, his hand on the hilt of his sword….unsure what to do now.

The slumped man chuckled dryly, “Well done your _highness_ …..seems there is some fight in you after all….well, what are you waiting for then? Finish the job. A quick slice to my throat should do it…unless of course you take after your father and would rather wait for a good old burning” he cackled again, no light of clarity in his eyes as he stared at Arthur in challenge.

Arthur had made his decision.

He found himself moving towards the slumped man with sureness he had not had an hour ago. The imposter looked resigned yet oddly triumphant at this, his eyes falling shut as Arthur grabbed hold of his collar once more and used it to haul him off the floor.

He had made his decision.

He took the small victory of surprise on his ‘ _enemy’s_ ’ face as he brought his face towards him. Their lips barely brushed against one another but it didn’t make it any less meaningful, not for Arthur anyhow.

“I won’t lose you Henry, you have ten minutes….now go”

And then he let go and walked away; leaving an open, unguarded cell door in his wake.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: 
> 
> Chapter title from the infamous novel first published in 1886, titled Strange case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, now better known as Jekyll and Hyde. The work is commonly associated with the rare mental condition often called "split personality", referred to in psychiatry as dissociative identity disorder, where within the same body there exists more than one distinct personality.[4] In this case, there are two personalities within Dr Jekyll, one apparently good and the other evil. The novella's impact is such that it has become a part of the language, with the very phrase "Jekyll and Hyde" coming to mean a person who is vastly different in moral character from one situation to the next (taken from wikipedia).
> 
> **The potion that Mordred had Gwen give Harry acted to suppress Harry’s conscience and allow Myror free reign. Only a truly strong determination or something to truly fight for (for example: Love) would be enough to break through the potions effects


	22. Star Light, Star Bright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Thanks for all those that have continued with this story. This will be the last chapter...I am leaving a somewhat open ending (ducks rotten fruit thrown) but as of now, have no concrete plans for a sequel. Hope you enjoy and as always, leave me a comment!
> 
> Happy reading!

* * *

 

_“And they lived happily (aside from a few normal disagreements, misunderstandings, pouts, silent treatments, and unexpected calamities) ever after.” ―_ [ _Jean Ferris_ ](http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/86265.Jean_Ferris) _,_ [ _Twice Upon a Marigold_ ](http://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/2438187)

* * *

 

“You had better leave soon if you have any hope of being on time”

Harry jumped at the sound of Morgana’s voice, sparing her a quick grin before refocusing on the stubborn weed that just did not seem to want to give up its spot. Annoying little thing.

“I still have plenty of time….” He denied though the weight of Morgana’s reprimanding glare did not lesson (or better yet go away). If anything it seemed to grow with his attempt to reassure.

“Fine… I’m going to go wash right now and I’ll be on the road within the hour…..happy?” he finally gave in with a sigh (not that he was all that shocked in his loss…when it came to the strong willed witch he was always losing these days).

“Good….the last message said that the old bastard had little time left. I know you’d rather not arrive before he is gone but you know that Arthur, despite what he insists, could use your support right now” Morgana stated.

And dammit, this was why he always lost…..she always seemed to know exactly what was going on in his head and used it against him.

It was true; while he loved any time he got with the Prince….he still would much rather spend it far away from Uther’s poisonous reach. Of course the decrepit king had been steadily declining in health and sanity over the last year and (if word was right) had very little of either left…meaning that soon Harry wouldn’t have to worry about the man at all. And yes, maybe he was procrastinating leaving to meet with Arthur because he’d rather not be there for Uther’s final breaths (he’d much rather arrive after there were none left to be perfectly honest). But she was also right in saying that Arthur would want his support before-throughout and after the man’s final days…..no matter what the tyrant had done, Uther still _was_ his father.

“I’m going….you know that you could come with….” He offered, though he already knew her response.

“No. While you may have the ability to put past slights aside in order to give Arthur what he needs….I do not. It would be much better for all involved if I did not return to Camelot before Uther is good and truly gone” Morgana denied, much like Harry knew she would.

“Suit yourself” he shrugged before pushing himself up and dusting off his dirt encrusted hands. He sighed once more gazing over the lush garden that he had spent many an hour in since his hazardous escape from Camelot. No matter how much time had passed since the hasty escape and the trying months that followed, the memories of it were as clear as though it had taken place yesterday.

_(Flashback)_

_Darkness pressed down on him from all sides. Harry knew that this should concern him, he had never before been aware during his missing ‘black periods,’ and yet, somehow a part of his brain seemed to be aware that he was not in this space alone. There was another—and that other was slowly but surely pushing Harry’s conscience further and further back into the overwhelming black._

_Harry was having a hard time caring._

_A small part of him (the survivor part—the part that forged ahead no matter what obstacle was presented, that persevered no matter the odds) was screaming at him to get up and fight. To not let this ‘other’ win. Whatever winning meant at this point…..Harry had the feeling that he wasn’t the one doing it._

_He was vaguely aware of the ‘other’ having a heated conversation with someone….someone familiar. Harry knew that voice…that face…he knew it intimately….who was it again? Why did Harry care?....he didn’t…no, that wasn’t right, he **did**. He **did** care for this person…._

_Arthur. It was Arthur that the other was speaking with._

_A strong wave of betrayal and sadness threatened to overwhelm him, and for a moment, Harry wanted nothing more than to stop thinking and run further into the dark. It would be so easy….so painless…_

_He was teetering on the edge of doing just that when suddenly everything stopped._

_His mind was wrenched forward—away from the dark, Arthur was there. Arthur was kissing him. He hadn’t thought that he would ever experience that again, yet….._

_He forced his weary focus to understand what was happening; Arthur was speaking again. What was he saying?_

_“I won’t lose Henry, you have ten minutes…now go”_

_And then Arthur walked away….he walked away and left the cell door behind him open._

_Harry didn’t understand and he realized that neither did the **other.** _

_Arthur was letting him go? Why? Why would Arthur let him go…..why would he risk his own position….his father’s wrath? Why……._

_And suddenly Harry knew. Maybe some small part of him always had….even now he wasn’t sure he should—could, let himself know. What if he was wrong? What if he was being fooled again? What if…what if he was right?_

_He realized that even as he internally debated his new epiphany that his body was already responding. His feet didn’t hesitate to leave the small cell, nor did they pause to duck out of the servants’ courtyard exit when he passed it._

_As he ran he felt the **other** fighting….denying….trying to convince him that he was making a mistake….and maybe he was. An hour ago he would have allowed the other to convince him that he was. But now…now that he saw Merlin’s worried expression waiting for him in the shadows of the stable, a horse in hand, loaded up with a sack of supplies. Now that he had felt Arthur’s lips against his once more, witnessed the remorse and the unspoken promise of a future from those same lips…..now…_

_….now he wasn’t willing to listen._

_The other had no place in this decision. And just like that the pain in his head tripled. Pounding and clawing at his brain as his body swung up on the saddle and rode swiftly through the densely thicketed forest away…..far away from Camelot._

_The last thing he recalled from that night before the pain grew to be too much was Merlin pressing a folded note into his pocket, the words “it’s from Arthur” falling from his mouth._

_Then he was gone, cantering at a pace that would surely exhaust his poor horse within hour as Camelot grew smaller and smaller, until it was but a speck on the distant horizon._

_(end flashback)_

When he finally came too he felt like a different person. No, that wasn’t quite right….he felt like the same but completely different aspect of the person he was always meant to be. And ok, so now he was just confusing himself…simply put, when he awoke to find himself situated in a long abandoned cottage, wards erect and functioning, he knew something had changed.

To his shame….it took him several stressed filled hours of frantic self assessment to realize just what that change was.

The nagging, itching presence that had been hounding him since he first awoke in this strange new place was gone. For once, Harry was completely aware and alone in his own head. There was a simple clarity to his thoughts that he hadn’t even been aware he was previously missing. He felt……good, whole….complete.

He felt like he could finally call himself Henry and truly understand what that meant. He was no longer Harry….he was no longer….Myror….

He was Henry Emry’s. Convict, escapee, sorcerer and lover of the future king of Camelot.

It was freeing.

The monumental shift in self, not to mention, the weight of the past several days, made it so that Harry forgot to even look at Arthur’s note until he was safely ensconced an abandoned cottage just bordering the edges of Camelot’s boundaries—several days after having actually received the correspondence.

Reading the short but sincere words from the man he now could admit he loved, had only cemented this notion.

Arthur had written the letter as though he knew that it would be Harry that he’d be speaking with (despite Harry now knowing the prince had no way of actually knowing that…especially considering the last face to face interaction he had had with the other). And, had it come from anyone else, Harry would have thought the words trite and overly sentimental….coming from Arthur however—knowing the man like he did, and just how hard it was for Arthur to express himself and his emotions--he couldn’t help but feel touched.

It would seem that Arthur’s one small act of trust and love (that open cell door) was enough to erase the many small but hurtful stabs of mistrust and betrayal of before. Harry knew that it should not….but, well, there really was no way to reason with how one felt. It was never logical…it just was.

And truthfully Harry didn’t want to keep fighting….to keep denying himself happiness out of fear of what _might_ happen. For better or for worse; he loved that stupid dolt of a prince and he could only hope that Arthur’s returned love was enough to see them through the rocky times ahead.

Only time would tell.

Two months after his hasty escape

\--a _, in no way, **boring** two months; despite him being basically isolated from the rest of civilization. The following excitement was largely due to the fact that Morgana had shown up one day out of the blue, satchel in hand. Apparently she was not quite as willing to continue with her magiclessness front as Merlin was, and had decided—upon learning that Henry had escaped with the help of her brother and his personal servant,—that she too wished to escape. The delay was mainly due to the fact that Merlin and Arthur (to a lesser extent) were wary about trusting her with Harry’s new location…though eventually she had somehow proven herself…and had promptly made herself welcome in his quaint little home. Harry never did manage to pry just how she had regained Merlin’s trust, out of her: some things where better left a mystery in his opinion.-- _

Harry had met face to face with Arthur for the first time since Arthur’s confrontation with the _other._ There had been a mere second of wariness from the prince—one that was immediately disregarded once Arthur got a clear look into his clear green eyes—followed by a very long (and satisfying) evening of getting reacquainted.

They had continued to communicate since then—mainly through letters, though Arthur had managed to sneak away from Camelot a few times to meet face to face. It was through these interactions that Harry was kept fairly in the loop regarding the comings and goings of Camelot (Merlin had visited a time or two as well and often sent messily written notes along with Arthur’s neater letters….though Harry had noticed that his brother seemed to have taken to sending far lengthier letters to Morgana…..curious….).

Arthur had told him of the massive upheaval that his escape—and later Morgana’s running had caused within Camelot’s court. It seemed as though Guinevere’s own hand in what went down had come out….(though just what part she had played, was of course, skewed and completely misrepresented)…no matter how or what had actually happened, Harry couldn’t help but feel a bit hurt by the girl’s actions.

From what he and Arthur had reasoned, it would seem that Gwen had been in some way responsible for the _other’s_ appearance. A servant had come forth stating that she had seen Gwen talking with a man who looked suspiciously like the banished druid, Mordred, only hours prior to Harry’s escape. That paired with the fact that she was the last one to bring him food….made it look a lot like she had helped him escape (at least in Uther’s eyes)—though in Harry and Arthur’s, it seemed far more likely that she had a hand in aiding Morgause’s and Mordred’s schemes (Especially after Morgana confirmed that Morgause’s original plan had something to do with a potion and Harry’s mental state).

They would likely never know what truly happened—especially since Gwen had pulled a disappearing act the day before all this came to light (Uther was still scouring the land for her—unsuccessfully). But they had agreed that it was a worry for another time.

They had much larger, more important matters to concern themselves with (and yes, those did marginally include the fact that not only had Gwen disappeared but so had Morgause and Mordred). But mainly they centered around their plans for when Arthur finally took the throne.

As days turned to weeks which turned to months it was obvious that this event was not quite as far in the future as they had once thought. Uther’s mental status and health were declining at a scarily rapid pace (one that Harry could only guess was helped by the stressors of Morgana running, Harry’s escape and the rising discontentment from his subjects).

For himself, Harry could not quite make up his mind if Arthur’s coronation was too far or too close in the future. His feelings on the matter varied depending on the day. On one hand, he wanted Uther gone….but on the other, he was still uncertain that he wanted to take up the mantle that would no doubt be thrust on him once Arthur became King. It was a heavy responsibility to bear…..

One that he wished he could have more time in preparing for.

But it appeared that it would soon be upon him, prepared or not.

It was only knowing that this time—it would not fall on him solely; in fact, it would be rest much more on Arthur’s shoulders with him only there to help lessen the load—that stopped him from running for the hills.

He could not do that to Arthur…..more importantly: he did not want to.

So steeling his shoulders Harry urged his mount into a fast canter…. There was no time to delay…

He had a prince—no _King_ , to help….and better yet, a future to make.

He couldn’t wait.

\--0—

_A Year later_

The sound of tree branches being knocked against the filthy panes had become almost inconsequential to Mordred in its familiarity. Sadly the safe house that he had retreated to was not exactly located in the continent’s most amiable weather sphere.

Not that this bothered him….he rather thought it apt that the gloomy, desolate weather reflected his own mood so well. He did not, after all, enjoy failing.

And failing is exactly what he had done. He really shouldn’t have been so surprised by this turn of events….not really, his plan had been, he could admit, flimsy and farfetched at best. Looking back on things, he could see that it was really only ever going to fail. Still….it smarted.

But, no matter, Mordred was not a quitter. While yes, for now, he may have been forced to retreat and would likely need to regroup and re-strategize in the near future, he was not defeated. Not entirely, anyway. He had done the smart thing and gotten out while he still could. He had further tracked down Morgause and taken care of that loose end.

The witch would be a threat to him and his future no longer. It was better this way-- like a sickly forest was better for having been set ablaze-- he could pause for a moment and then come back stronger and more vicious then before. It had been needed.

He had been curious after Uther’s death, just what direction his scion would take Camelot. And while not what he would have done, he could admit that Arthur had proven to be a far more adept ruler then his father ever was.

He was even man enough to admit that many of the new policies and strides taken towards integrating magic back into daily life (in a safe and healthy way of course—the sneer at this comes unbeckoned) were surprisingly successful. (He had his suspicions that the King’s new consort, not to mention, his consort’s brother in the role of newly appointed magical advisor, had a large hand in said success—curse them--).

But still…..no matter how accepting Camelot was turning out to be towards those of special talents, it was not enough. No….Mordred’s goals had never been geared towards becoming merely _accepted_. He had never once wanted magic or magic users to become mundane or ‘normal,’ it was almost more of a slap in the face then having them be persecuted and villainized had been. Magic was might.

Magic was meant to _rule…._ not be ruled.

And it would be…..someday….he just needed a bit of time was all….a bit of time and perhaps, a bit of help.

A quiet knock sounded at the door.

…speaking of which

He couldn’t say he was surprised to see her standing there, back straight, jaw set and determined. He had had the feeling when he first heard of her disappearing act that he would see her again.

“Hello Guinevere”

The set to her jaw drew tighter and the haggard lines spreading from her once warm eyes amplified.

“They almost found me, I had to run” she stated her voice hoarse with disuse, “I have nowhere else left to go.”

The smirk he wore grew wider.

“You will always be welcome here my dear” he stated stepping back to allow her entrance. One that she hesitated a mere second or two before taking.

“Do make yourself at home….we really do have a lot to discuss”

Gwen’s tired look morphed into one of pure malice as she moved to set the cloth bag containing what appeared to be a stone on the abused table top.

“I was hoping you’d say that”

The END

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: 
> 
> Chapter title: from the children’s song, Star light, Star bright.
> 
> Star light, star bright,
> 
> The first star I see tonight;
> 
> I wish I may, I wish I might,
> 
> Have the wish I wish tonight
> 
>  
> 
> The superstition of hoping for wishes granted when seeing a shooting or falling star may date back to the ancient world. (wikipedia)
> 
> Muhahahahha…..yes I am evil….open ending (cackles) despite this, their likely will not be a sequel, and even if there is, it won’t be for some time. 
> 
> Thanks for reading I hope you enjoyed, to clarify a few points;  
> 1) Harry and Myror finally merged into one because Arthur finally demonstrated that he truly loved Harry. He was willing to let Myror go—someone who had a grudge and wanted to kill him—simply on the off chance that Harry might be somewhere buried with in. This gave Harry’s half the strength to fight once more and the love that was recognized by his actions was enough to finally cement the two polarized halves into one. Harry’s half having been the more dominate side of the personality will have more of his personality traits apparent in their new person, but there will be a bit of both. 
> 
> 2) The stone that gwen has at the end may, or may not be, that stone Harry gave Merlin to help track him down all those moons ago. I’ll leave it up to your lovely imaginations to decide just what that means. 
> 
> 3) I hope I tied up most strands of the story, likely there will be some I missed. I apologize for these but hope you enjoyed the story regardless. Thanks for sticking it out!


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